and there was none to whom he could leave it but me and my cousin, Mistress Alison French, who was already provided for, seeing that her own father was alive and a well-to-do man. To my thinking, the life of a country gentleman would suit me well—I should breed cattle and sheep, and occasionally compose a set of well-turned verses after the fashion of Sidney, whom I admired greatly, and more than all, I should have the scent of hawthorn blossoms and of the brown soil, instead of the stink of those musty parchments which I never could abide.

Now, Sir Nicholas and I had talked these matters over that morning, and we had differed, as we always did—at least, upon this particular question. He was all for what he called my advancement—I was for a quiet life after my own fashion.

“’Slife!” said he, after hearing my notions for the twentieth time; “to hear thee talk, boy, one would think that all the life and energy had gone out of us Coopes. And, beshrew me, so it has, for thou and I are the last of the lot, and I am too old to lift finger again.”

“I am willing enough to lift finger, sir,” I answered. “You would not find me wanting if occasion arose to fasten up the doors and stand a siege——”

“Why, faith,” said he, “and that may come ere long, in these times.”

“But in the law, to which you destined me, there is precious little lifting of fingers save with a goose’s quill in them,” said I. “Every man to his taste, sir; ’tis a saying that I learnt from yourself.”

He looked at me meditatively.

“First and last,” said he, “I have laid out as much as a thousand pound upon thee, Dick.”

“Sir,” I said, “you have never doubted my gratitude.”

“Thou art a good lad,” he answered. “I have not. But a thousand pound—’tis a great sum to be thrown away. I think, Dick, the law must occupy thee. What man, a Coope can achieve aught that he sets his mind to! Thy father, now, was Registrar to the Archbishop—I make no doubt he would have been Vicar-General and Chancellor of the Diocese if death had not removed him. As for thee, with all the advantages I have given thee, thou should’st at least become Lord Chief-Justice. ‘Lord Chief-Justice Coope’—’tis a high-sounding title, though I see no reason why not Lord Chancellor Coope. However, when that comes I shall be dead and gone. In the days of thy greatness, Dick, forget not to come here at times. The old place will make a country house for thee—thou canst turn aside to it in journeying ’twixt London and York—’twill be but poor lodging for a Lord Chancellor, but——”

As I stood watching the rain patter on the flags I remembered this, and laughed for the first time that day. Sir Nicholas was so certain of the things of which I was filled with doubt that his assurance gave me vast entertainment. He had regarded me as a future Lord Chancellor from my boyhood, and now it was too late to persuade him that such dignity was beyond my reach and capabilities. I began to wonder whether it was worth while to attempt persuasion upon him. In the very nature of things he could not live many years, being then much beyond three-score: it would therefore become me to follow his behests while he lived, and study my own inclinations when he was dead. I think it was the laughter which woke in me on remembering his prophecies as to my great state that moved me to this sensible reflection—howbeit, some of my gloom shifted itself, and I turned inside to make enquiry after my good relative and see if I could do aught to entertain him until his bed-time.

II.

Because of the rainy night Barbara had caused a rousing fire to be lighted in the great kitchen, and near this as I passed through were grouped the half-dozen serving men and lads whom Sir Nicholas kept in his employ. Two of them were ancient retainers; the remainder, lads that helped in the stables and with the cattle, and led an easy life under the old knight’s rule. Of the two elder men, one, Gregory, stood behind his master’s chair at meals, and kept the key of the cellar; the other, Jasper, was half-hind and half-steward. These two, as I turned into the kitchen, stood a little apart from the rest, conversing with Barbara. Gregory, holding in one hand his great bunch of keys and in the other a flask which he had just brought from the cellar, stood open-mouthed listening to Jasper; Barbara, her hands on her plump sides, stood by him, wide-eyed and eager. The lads at the fire watched these three, and from the scullery door two kitchen wenches peeped wonderingly at Jasper’s nodding head.

Gregory brought me to a stand with an appealing look.

“Master Richard,” says he, in a whisper, “if so be you’ll pause a moment, sir—Sir Nicholas is comfortable, thank God—there’s a little matter——”

“What is it?” says I.

“Jasper has come in from Pomfret, Master Richard,” he says, still whispering; “with the seven load of wheat a’ went, and has returned with great news.”

“Exceeding great news,” says Jasper, shaking his head. “And the wheat, Master Richard, sir——”

“Come,” says I, impatient, “what’s your news, Jasper—out with it, and let the wheat rest.”

“We were afraid to let the master hear it, Master Richard,” says Gregory. “’Tis of an upsetting nature——”

“’Tis news of war, Master Richard,” says Jasper, interrupting him. “The King and the Parliament is going to fight. I heard it talked of in Pomfret market. They do say that the fighting has begun—somewhere in the south country, I think—but I was that put about over the wheat that I didn’t rightly catch all particulars. But they were certain that it’s war at last, and the castle is to be garrisoned for the king.”

Now there was naught much to be surprised at in this, for it was what we had expected for many a long day. We had heard rumours of it all that month, and it was well known that the country gentlemen all over the riding were making themselves ready against such time as the fight ’twixt King and Commons should come to a head. But now that the final news came to me I felt some little shock, one reason of which you shall presently understand. Also I felt some debate within my own mind as to my uncle’s position and safety. His Manor House of East Hardwick stood within three miles of the Castle of Pomfret, and I had little doubt that the latter would eventually become a centre of active operations, in which case the neighbouring houses of any importance were not unlikely to suffer at the hands of beleaguering troops. These things I thought of as I listened to Jasper’s news.

“Say naught to the lads and maidens,” says I. “They’ll only blab it over the village within the hour. I will mention it to Sir Nicholas myself——”

“Pray God it bring not another fit of his complaint!” says Barbara. “’A suffered a terrible twinge after you was gone out, Master Dick.”

“’Twill be more likely to make him forget it,” I answers, going towards the door which led into the great hall. But before I could lay hands on the latch, there came a great stamping of feet in the porch outside and a loud voice calling for a groom. The lads tumbled out, with Jasper in their rear, and presently there came blustering in a great man of loud voice, demanding Sir Nicholas, and protesting that the night was not fit for a dog to be out in. He caught sight of me and stared, and came stamping across the kitchen with a wet hand outstretched.

“That should be young Dick,” says