3. III.
THE LADY OF WENDOVER AGAIN.
London was visible, as I approached, from a great
distance, with its canopy of smoke; and I cantered
gayly into the famous city, making my way, after inquiries
of wayfarers, towards Essex Court, where my
lodgings had been engaged.
In front of the palace of Whitehall, with which I
was familiar from one other visit in my boyhood to
London, a very great crowd had assembled. So dense
was the mass of human beings that I pushed my horse
through it with difficulty, followed by Dick the hostler;
and the appearance of this crowd was singular. It consisted,
apparently, of apprentices of the various trades
in the City, their hair cut extremely short; and almost
all carried in their hands staves upon which were placards
bearing the word “Liberty.” The great mass of
human beings uttered vociferous cries, and kept their
eyes fixed upon the palace, in front of which I now
saw a long row of carriages drawn up, with the royal
arms upon the panels.
“What is the cause of this excitement, sir?” I said
to a burly individual standing near me.
“The tyrant is about to fly with his family, and we
are come to stop him,” was the stern reply.
“The tyrant, sir?” I said.
“Others call him Charles the First of England.”
“Good heavens, sir!” I exclaimed, “'tis not possible
that violence is meant by his majesty's faithful
subjects to his person and his family!”
My interlocutor looked fixedly at me, and, tightening
the grasp on his stick, was apparently about to take
the offensive, when a great wave bore him ten feet from
me. A hand caught my bridle, and my horse was
thrown on his haunches. A moment afterwards, hoofstrokes
were heard: a detachment of the king's body-guard
pushed their horses through the crowd, the
procession of coaches filled with ladies followed, and
another detachment brought up the rear.
I had been swept away, still on horseback, by the
great wave, and was looking at the carriages, when I
recognized in one of them the face of the young lady
whom I had encountered at Wendover. She was clad
in velvet and laces now, and was even more beautiful.
I was gazing at the calm, proud face, conscious of little
save her very great loveliness, when a man rushed up
to the coach,—it was my burly friend with the staff,—
thrust the “Liberty” placard into the young lady's
face, and uttered some words apparently of insult; for
the calm face quickly flushed. This proceeding enraged
me; and, leaping to the ground, I grasped the person
guilty of this indignity by one of his ears, dragging
him violently back. He uttered a yell of anger at this
unceremonious assault, turned, and caught me by the
throat; and, although I had drawn and directed my
sword's point towards his breast, I was about to be
dragged down and trampled under foot by the crowd,
when a voice near me cried,—
“Hold hard, Ned! We are coming.”
It was the voice of Harry, who rode at the head of
the detachment of horse in rear.
“You will please allow me to pass, good people,”
he said, in his loud, hearty voice. “I don't want to
ride against anybody; and, as this gentleman is my
brother—”
He pushed at my big opponent, struck him with his
horse's chest, and drew me, hot and furious, towards him.
“'Ware hawks, Ned!” he said, laughing. “There's
Dick brandishing his arms and holding your horse.
Mount, and fall in with the Guards! or I think these
worthies will eat you up!”
Dick had pushed through and reached my side, still
clinging to my horse's bridle. I threw myself into the
saddle, and took my place in the line,—Dick imitating
me. No further violence was offered any one; and an
hour afterwards the procession of coaches, containing,
as I now ascertained, the queen, the royal family, and
maids of honor, issued from London.
Then I saw rising before me the imposing walls of
Hampton Court; the procession passed through the
park; the Guards were drawn up in a double line, and
between these walls of silk, plumes, and steel, the queen
and the rest entered the palace.
I was looking with interest and admiration upon the
bevy of beautiful young ladies as they passed in and
disappeared, when the voice of Harry beside me said,—
“What was the trouble about yonder, Ned?”
I told him all.
“Oho! Well, that's like a Cecil! And it was the
fair Miss Frances Villiers whose knight you became,”
“Is her name Frances Villiers?”
“Yes; her Majesty's favorite maid of honor.”
“Well, I think I did right, Harry—”
“You won the right to enter the guards of her
majesty; and I'll apply for your appointment before
I sleep, Ned. Come on! follow me to the guard-room.”
