University of Virginia Library

7. VII.
BROTHERS.

As I uttered the words, “I shall see her again,
—Frances Villiers!” I felt Harry start.

“You say that in an ardent tone, Ned,” he replied.
“Is the prospect so delightful?”

I was silent, and felt a burning blush rush to my face
in the darkness.

“True!” I stammered. “I have never spoken of
this even to you, my dearest Harry. But 'tis out now!
Yes, I look forward to the moment when I shall see
Frances Villiers again with the wildest beating of the
heart. When the king said, `I wish you to go to Holland,'
the words were like music. How could I feel
aught but joy, or listen calmly, as his majesty spoke

thus, Harry? The person I'll see there has long been
dearer to me than all else in this world!”

Followed a gushing oration, full of passionate love
and general froth and absurdity. What makes young
gentlemen when they are in love insist upon bestowing
their raptures, with a sort of drunken ardor, on the
nearest person? They grow maudlin when the fit is on
them, and talk on through the night-watches forever.
So I opened my heart to Harry, and told him all, as
we lay there on Edgehill,—how I had loved Frances
Villiers from our first meeting nearly, had dreamed of
her day and night when at Hampton Court, and had
sighed bitterly when she went away,—my sun, moon,
and starlight all combined! This, and all the rest! I
spare the reader, as I did not spare poor Harry. He
listened in silence for a long time, and scarce interrupted
me to the end. There was something strange
in his voice, I thought,—I did not note it then, but
remembered it afterwards.

“Well, Ned,” he said, at length, forcing a laugh, “I
see you are regularly a victim; but I don't wonder,
since the enchantress is the fair Miss Villiers, the empress
of all hearts!”

He laughed again; but the laugh was discordant.

“What ails you, Harry? Your laugh is strange!” I
said.

“Ails me? Nothing, Ned. What could ail me? I'm
not anxious about the fight to-morrow on Mr. Harry
Cecil's score, I swear to you. If I felt solicitude,
'twould be on Ned Cecil's account, brother.”

His voice had softened to the sweetest music: there
was no longer the tone of frolic laughter in it, but an

earnest kindness and goodness that touched me to the
heart, as he ended with that word “brother,” never
employed save in moments of loving regard.

“Then we think of each other,” I said; “for I have
prayed for you, Harry! You are my only brother, and
the very best brother that man ever had!”

Harry's old kind laugh rang out.

“Good! Here we are making protestations,” he
said. “What's the advantage? Don't I know that you
love me, Ned, as I love you? Since we were children
we never have quarreled but once, when I beat you
and then went and sat on the steps and cried about it!
I'll back Ned Cecil for a brother against any man in
England! And now let's go to sleep; 'tis near day,
and the fight may open at dawn. So you go to Holland?—Well,
present my regards to the fair Miss
Frances. She's worth loving, Ned,—forward!—I mean
to be present at your wedding!”

The words were uttered in a low tone, and Harry
turned away, as though going to sleep. Suddenly he
wheeled round, and placed his arm around my neck.

“God bless my brother!” he said, in the same strange
tone: “that comes straight from my heart, Ned!—and
now good-night.”

A moment afterwards, a long heavy breathing seemed
to indicate that Harry slept. I knew afterwards that,
like myself, he lay awake until dawn. Then the bugle
sounded, and the camps were astir.

The day of battle had come,—the first battle of the
English Civil War.