Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform’d in this wide gap of time.
_Winter’s Tale._
It is not necessary to the after-story of the persons in our domestic
drama that the various fortunes of that unnatural war, which desolated
England for so many years, should be further related.
From the bloody field of Newbury, of which we have already spoken, to
the close of that mighty and memorable contest which convulsed the
whole kingdom, our tale pauses. The imagination of the reader must
pass with us in haste across that afflicting season of violence and
woe to consider the first-fruits of that harvest, the seed of which
had been sown in the whirlwind of human passions, and had been watered
by torrents of human blood.
But some slight notices of what passed during this interval among our
various characters--a faint outline of their doings, and of the
positions which they occupied--may not be without some interest. From
the period when we last mentioned him, the health of Sir Oliver
declined: he grew infirm; and besides gout he had other complaints,
which produced a morbid action in his system, and made him alternately
gloomy and lethargic, or sensitive and irritable to excess. Any bad
news, a disagreeable incident, a chance crossing of his will, made him
angry and out of temper with every person and thing around him. All
this Katharine bore with a prayerful composure of the spirit, and was
often rewarded by subduing her unreasonable father into sincere and
affectionate confessions of that divine mercy, which did in so many
things comfort and succour them in this season of common adversity and
universal suffering. But there were trials to which she was
occasionally exposed that drove her away in agony of spirit, and with
a silent step, to her closet, where she might weep alone.
Sir Oliver had been informed, through the officious and mischievous
agency of one of those busy old ladies who had forced their
acquaintance on the family, first, that Francis Heywood had been in
Oxford with Lord Say’s horsemen, and, next, that he had had an
interview on the bank of the river with Mistress Katharine. She
contrived, moreover, in her relation of the story, under a pretence of
feeling for the young people, and of its being so natural and so
romantic, to insinuate that it was a prettily concerted meeting. It is
not to be denied that she had some materials on which to build up the
fabric of her falsehood: for she had seen Jane and Katharine walking
in the meadow; she had seen Francis Heywood leap from the boat; and
when he came forth from the avenue which concealed both the ladies as
well as himself, and walked swiftly into the city, he had passed close
under the window of her summer house.
There is a dignity and there is an earnestness in a genuine spirit of
truth which command belief and compel admiration. No sooner,
therefore, did Sir Oliver first mention to Katharine what he had heard
than she told him, with all plainness, in how sudden and unexpected a
manner Francis and herself met. She told him in part what had passed
between them, and excused herself for not telling him of the
interview, by reminding him how very much the sight of her cousin’s
name in the newspaper had discomposed and excited him; and how, in his
own judgment, it had exasperated the symptoms of his disease. By these
explanations the old knight was at once satisfied and quieted. Her
remonstrance with Francis put aside at the moment all suspicion. At
her particular request, he promised that Francis and his politics
should be an interdicted name and a forbidden subject. But this
resolution was soon broken; for when he heard that Milverton House was
burnt down, for a fortnight the name was constantly on his lips, and
was always coupled with the most angry and contemptuous language, if
not by maledictions of a more fearful nature.
At such moments, a sense of his own impotent condition, which forbade
him to join the camp, would press upon his mind, till it produced
paroxysms of frantic rage. By these temptations a temper less heavenly
than that of Katharine’s would have been fretted into resistance and
contention,--a faith less firm and exalted would have failed. But ever
as the tempests of his mind subsided, Sir Oliver felt shame in her
angelic presence. He could not indeed apprehend the high order of her
mental force; but he could appreciate those solid principles of filial
affection that enabled her to endure all things, to hope all things,
and that replied to bitter words only by the kindest services, and by
the most studious desires to content and cherish him. Through
sickness, through pain, through greater reverses of fortune than they
at first experienced,--under circumstances which compelled a great
abridgement of all their ordinary comforts,--the daughter shone as if
she had been some ministering spirit of love and patience, to whom a
charge of peculiar difficulty had been assigned. Nor was this trial of
her patience brief. It was not till the winter of 1647 that her
chastised parent was removed from his scene of suffering and taken to
his rest. The last two months of his existence were, however, marked
by a change of temper and conduct very affecting to all who witnessed
it; and this proved a reward and consolation to Katharine herself
beyond all expectation. Hope, indeed, had never forsaken her; for her
hope was ever anchored beneath the mercy seat of that Redeemer who is
mighty to save. The old knight became gentle, penitent,
tearful:--listened with earnestness to the word of life--was much in
meditation--became tender as a little child--was full of thanksgiving
and gratitude to his Christian daughter, and expired in her arms in
peace. His end was only marked by one painful circumstance,--a last
weakness and prejudice, that clung to him even when the approach of
death was manifest, and eternity in view. He declared that he died in
true and perfect charity with all men, and with Francis and his father
more especially; but he made a request to Katharine, that she would
solemnly promise, under no change of circumstances whatever, to give
her hand in marriage to her cousin Francis. He confessed to her that,
two years before, he had intercepted a letter from him to her address;
in which, though he did not suppose them to be responded to by her,
his sentiments of love were set forth in plain and melancholy words.
Katharine gave the promise required with a low firm voice, and
received upon a pale and trembling cheek the cold kiss that thanked
her.
The Heywoods had remained in Oxford through both the sieges, and in
that city Sir Oliver died. Arthur Heywood, feeling himself by the loss
of his limb disabled for all future service in the field, had again
entered at his college, and prepared himself by diligent and cheerful
study for embracing the profession of the law, whenever the
distracted kingdom should be once more in a state of repose. George
Juxon had been for the most part in the field, having accompanied the
army of the King as the volunteer chaplain of a regiment of horse; but
in the winter of 1645 he made Jane Lambert his own by those sweet and
sacred ties which the church sanctifies and records. Katharine stood
by her at the altar with that pure and perfect joy which hath its only
outward expression in grave and loving looks. For her comfort, Jane
was still spared to her as a companion,--a consolation greatly needed,
and most thankfully enjoyed; for her domestic trials were of that
petty and painful nature, that do especially wear and weary the most
generous spirits.
The name of Francis did never reach her ear save through some public
channel, and that being commonly a newspaper, printed for the
Royalists, she did only gather that he had been present on some fields
where there had been obstinate fighting and great loss of lives. The
thought of his being slain was one painfully familiar to her in the
still night when she lay awake and prayed for him. Then again came
other news in the morning, and his name mentioned as one still riding
at the head of squadrons, and present, it would seem, and among the
foremost wherever swords were drawn, and service to be done.
Afterwards, for months she might not hear his name:--if he was dead,
she did not know it; if he was living, she did not know it; and all
these silent anxieties most deeply wrought upon her suffering spirit.
At the death of Sir Oliver, the King being now a captive, and the
royal cause (which had never looked up since the fatal battle of
Naseby) on all sides declining, Katharine consented, at the earnest
entreaty of Jane, to accompany the Juxons to Cottesmore, in the county
of Gloucester; near which place the venerable uncle of George had an
estate and a private dwelling. It was her intention to wait patiently
the full end of all troubles or commotions before she attempted to fix
her future residence; and then, upon the settlement of her family
affairs, to summon back to her that little orphan girl, just shown at
the commencement of this story. That sweet child had been securely
placed with the widow of a clergyman in one of the most secluded
valleys of Derbyshire, where, safe even from the sounds of war, she
had been reared in peace, and educated with religious care. This
arrangement had been made by Mistress Alice before her death, from an
apprehension that unquiet days were coming; and ample provision for
the support of the child had been lodged in the hands of a secure
agent in that county.
It was the plan of Katharine, whenever she might again take possession
of the Warwickshire estates, to build and endow a college for the
widows of clergymen on the site of the ruined mansion of Milverton,
and to pass the rest of her days in some quiet and suitable retreat
near Kenilworth. But it is premature to speak of the time and manner
of a retirement which was not to be realised till yet greater trials
than those she had hitherto experienced should come.