But Jane was grieved in her very heart. The evening promising so much had been spoiled; for love in such an unhappy atmosphere could find no opportunities. Yet in the short tremulous "good-night" which followed, Jane both remembered and foresaw; remembered the sweet glances and the refluent waves of sweet smiles which through all shadowings had drawn Love deep into her heart; and foresaw, beyond all obstacles and peradventures, what possible joy might be waiting in the future. And swift as thought the delicate love lines of her mouth grew bright with expectation, and the clasp of Neville's hand thrilled to her warm heart, and her soul blessed Love and Hope, and sheltered itself in the sunshine of their imperishable land.

Neville had asked to be called early, and before daybreak he came into the parlour ready for his journey. Some broiled beef, a manchet of white bread, and a black jack of spiced ale, stirred with a rosemary branch, was waiting for him; and Mrs. Swaffham and Jane sat at his side while he eat and drank. He spoke regretfully of his temper on the previous night, and left a message of apology for Lady Matilda de Wick, adding to it his sorrow, "not to be so favoured as to make his excuses in person."

"Matilda will sleep for three hours yet," said Mrs. Swaffham, "and I will be glad if she has that much comfort, for she frets her heart away when she is awake."

Then they stood up, for Neville's horse came clattering to the door. He clasped Jane's hand as it hung by her side, and they walked thus to the threshold. Snow was falling; the steps were white with it, and the east wind blew it gently in their faces. Mrs. Swaffham laughed and drew her shawl over her head, and Neville laughed also, and with a cheerful word, leaped to his saddle, his dark figure growing more and more phantom-like through the dim dawn and the white veil of the snow. At the gate he wheeled his horse, and, saluting them, vanished into the gray obscurity, which made all things as if they were not.

"The storm will grow worse, I fear," said Jane as they turned into the house.

"More like than not," answered Mrs. Swaffham; "but he is a dauntless youth, and nothing but good will come to him. Where goes he to-day?"

"As far as he can go. He is in haste to reach Edinburgh, for there is fresh news of rebels from Ireland landing on the Scotch coast. He showed me this report in a copy of the news-letter called The Scottish Dove."

"A badly named news-letter, Jane; the Scotch are never for peace."

"It is intended for a peace paper, mother."

"They are confused in their minds concerning peace. What did it say?"

"That ten ships were leaving Bristol to bring men from Ireland to help Charles Stuart against Cromwell. The Doveasserts, 'the Scotch are ready for speedy action, if God permit, and if advance money be forthcoming;'" and Jane laughed scornfully at the saving clause.

"He did not say much of the Cromwells. I'll warrant, they will forget you in their rising state."

"Far away from it. Mary and Frances sent me many good words, and they are very persuasive with me to come to London and share their state."

"You cannot go just yet, Jane. Your father is opposed to it, until General Cromwell returns there. Then, if it so please God, we shall all go – at least for a season."

"But when will Cromwell return there?"

"God has set a time for all events, Jane. We must wait for it. What think you of Matilda?"

"That she is in trouble greater than we know. She shuts in her words, but I think that something is about to happen."

"Anything may happen with Cromwell in Scotland, and the Parliament carrying things with such a high hand. But see, Jane, we must be after our own concerns. Servants, men and women, are getting beyond all belief; they do such barefaced things as never was. The week's butter is gone already, and when I spoke to Debby, she wiped her saucy mouth and, like the fox in the fable, 'thanked God she wasn't a thief.'"

Then the mother and daughter separated, and Jane went to her friend's room. She was languidly brushing out her long black hair, and Jane tried to kiss a smile into her melancholy face. And as she lifted her head, she had a momentary glance at a beautiful miniature lying upon the dressing-table. The face was that of a youth with flowing locks and a falling collar of lace; but Jane was too honourable to let her eyes rest consciously upon what was evidently hid from her. For in that same moment, Matilda moved her ribbons and kerchief in a hurried way, contriving in so doing, to cover the picture. Then she assumed her usual manner and asked,

"Is Lord Neville still angry at me? I suppose if I had remained with him, he would have eaten me by this time."

"He was very sorry for his show of temper, and would fain have made some apologies to you."

"Then he has gone? Well, it is not worth my while saying I am sorry for it."

"He set off early this morning."

"And so gave me the slip."

"Oh, no! He had important news for General Cromwell, and would push on at his utmost."

"Yet staying awhile at every decent Puritan dwelling, and making love to their sweet daughters."

"Do not be ill-natured, Matilda. He had letters from my father and brothers, and also from Mary and Frances Cromwell to deliver, or he had not stopped at Swaffham."

"Oh, Jane, Jane! I pray your pardon! It must be easy now to forgive me, I keep you so well in practice. In truth, I am a wretched girl, this morning. I have been dreaming of calamities, and my speech is too small for my heart. And this young lord with his adoration of Cromwell and his familiar talk of 'the ladies Mary and Frances' angered me, for I thought of the days when the Lord General was plain 'Mr. Cromwell,' and we were, both of us, in love with young Harry Cromwell."

"Was I in love with Harry Cromwell? If so, I have forgotten it."

"You were in love with Harry Cromwell – or you thought so – and so was I. Do you remember his teaching us how to skate? What spirits we all had then! How handsome he was! How strong! How good-natured! I hear now that he is all for Dorothy Osborne, and has had some Irish hounds sent her, and seal rings, and I know not what other tokens. And Mistress Dorothy is a royalist – that is one good thing about her. Very soon this lucky Cromwell family will coax you to London to see all their glory, and I shall be left in de Wick with no better company than a clock; for my father speaks to me about once an hour, and the Chaplain not at all, unless to reprove me."

"But you shall come to London also."

"Do you think so ill of me as to believe I would leave my father in the loneliness of de Wick? And you know if he went to London he would be watched day and night, and though he were white as innocence about the King, some one would make him as black as Satan."

"Look now, Matilda, I will myself see Cromwell as soon as he is in London. I will say to him, 'My dear Lord and General, I have a favour to ask;' and he will kiss me and answer, 'What is it, little Jane?' and I will tell him that I want my friend, Matilda de Wick, and that she will not leave her father alone; and that will go right down into his tender heart, to the very soul of him, and he will say – perhaps with tears in his eyes – 'She is a good girl, and I loved her father, and he stood by me once against the elder Charles Stuart and the Star Chamber. Yes he did, and I will leave de Wick in charge of his own honour, and I will give his daughter my name to shield them both. I will, surely.' Such words as this, good Cromwell will say. I know it."

"Oh, Jane, dear Jane, if I had to give a reason for loving you, what could I say for myself? If you can indeed do this thing for me, how glad I shall be!" And she stood up and kissed her friend, and in a little while they went downstairs together, and Matilda had some boiled milk and bread and a slice of venison. Then she asked Mrs. Swaffham to let her have a coach to go home in.

"For it is so near Christmas," she said, "that snow, or no snow, I must go to de Wick. Audrey was making the Nativity Pie when I left home, and it is that we may remember my brave dead brothers and my sweet mother as we eat it. Then we shall talk of them and of the happy Christmas days gone by, and afterwards go away and pray for their remembrance and blessedness."

"My dear," said Mrs. Swaffham solemnly, "the dead are with God. There is no need to pray for them."

"It comforts my heart to ask God that they may remember me. I think surely He will do so. He must know how we feel at Christmas. He must hear our sad talk of them, and see our tears, and He has not forbid us anywhere in the Bible to come to Him about our dead, any more than about our living. Father Sacy says I may confidently go to Him; that He will be pleased that I still remember. And as I do not forget them, they will not forget me. In God's very presence they may pray for me."

Mrs. Swaffham kissed her for answer, and they sent her away with such confidence of good-will and coming happiness that the girl almost believed days might be hers in the future as full of joy as days in the past had been.

"She has a true heart," said Mrs. Swaffham as they watched the coach disappear; and Jane answered,

"Yes, she has a true heart; and when we go to London the de Wicks must go also. Mother, I think she has yet a tender fancy for Harry Cromwell – it might be." But Mrs. Swaffham shook her head, and Jane remembered the miniature, and all day long at intervals wondered whose the pictured face was. And the snow fell faster and thicker for many days, and all the narrow ways and lanes were strangled with it. Mrs. Swaffham constantly spoke of Neville, and wondered if it were possible for him to make his way north, until one night, more than a week after his visit, she suddenly said,

"Jane, I have a strong belief that Lord Neville has reached Edinburgh;" and Jane smiled brightly back as she answered, "I have the same assurance, mother." And this pulse of prescience, this flash and flow of thought and feeling was no marvel at all to their faithful souls.

"I did not fear for him, he is not a man to miss his mark," said Mrs. Swaffham.

"And we must remember this, also, mother, that God takes hands with good men."

"To be sure, Jane, it is all right; and now I must look after the house a little." So saying she went away softly repeating a verse from her favourite Psalm, thus suffusing with serene and sacred glow the plainest duties of her daily life.

After this visit, it was cold winter weather, and Cluny Neville came no more until the pale windy spring was over the land. And this visit was so short that Mrs. Swaffham, who had gone to Ely, did not see him at all. For he merely rested while a fresh horse was prepared for him, eating a little bread and meat almost from Jane's hand as he waited. Yet in that half-hour's stress and hurry, Love overleaped a space that had not been taken without it; for as he stood with one hand on his saddle, ready to leap into it, Jane trembling and pale at his side, he saw unshed tears in her eyes and felt the unspoken love on her lips, and as he clasped her hand his heart sprang to his tongue, and he said with a passionate tenderness,

"Farewell, Jane! Darling Jane!" – then, afraid of his own temerity, he was away ere he could see the wonder and joy called into her face by the sweet familiar words.

When he came again, it was harvest time; the reapers were in the wheat-fields, and as he neared Swaffham he saw Jane standing among the bound sheaves, serving the men and women with meat and drink. For though the day was nearly over, the full moon had risen, and the labourers were going to finish their work by its light. He tied his horse at the gate and went to her side, and oh, how fair and sweet he found her! Never had she looked, never had any woman looked in his eyes, so enthralling. In her simple dress with its snow-white lawn bodice and apron, surrounded by the reapers whom she was serving, she looked like some rural goddess, though Neville thought rather of some Judean damsel in the fields of Bethlehem. Her little white hood had fallen backwards, and the twilight and the moonlight upon her gathered tresses made of them a kind of glory. The charm of the quiet moon was over all; there was no noise, indeed rather a pastoral melancholy with a gentle ripple of talk threading it about ploughing and sowing and rural affairs.

In a short time the men and women scattered to their work, and Cluny, turning his bright face to Jane's, took both her hands in his and said with eager delight,

"Dear Jane! Darling Jane! Oh, how I love you!"

The words came without intent. He caught his breath with fear when he realised his presumption, for Jane stood silent and trembling, and he did not at first understand that it was for joy which she hardly comprehended and did not at once know how to express. But the heart is a ready scholar when love teaches, and as they slowly passed through the fields of yellow fulness, finding their happy way among the standing sheaves, Jane heard and understood that heavenly tale which Cluny knew so well how to tell her. The moon's face, warm and passionate, shed her tender influence over them, and their hearts grew great and loving in it. For this one hour the bewitching moonlight of The Midsummer Night's Dream was theirs, and they did well to linger in it, and to fill their souls with its wondrous radiance. None just as heavenly would ever shine for them again; never again, oh, surely never again, would they thread the warm, sweet harvest fields, and feel so little below the angels!

Not until they reached Swaffham did they remember that they two were not the whole round world. But words of care and wonder and eager inquiry about war, and rumour of war, soon broke the heavenly trance of feeling in which they had found an hour of Paradise. Mrs. Swaffham was exceedingly anxious. The country was full of frightsome expectations. Reports of Charles Stuart's invasion of England were hourly growing more positive. Armed men were constantly passing northward, and no one could accurately tell what forces they would have to meet. It was said that Charles had not only the Highland Clans, but also Irish, French and Italian mercenaries; and that foreign troops had received commissions to sack English towns and villages, in order to place a popish king upon the throne. For there were not any doubts as to Charles Stuart's religious predilections. His taking of the Covenant was known to be a farce, at which he privately laughed, and the most lenient judged him a Protestant, lined through and through with Popery.

So the blissful truce was over, and Jane and Cluny were part of the weary, warring, working world again. Cluny knew nothing which could allay fear. He had just come from London, and he said – "The city is almost in panic; many are even suspecting the fidelity of Cromwell, and asking why he has permitted Charles Stuart to escape his army. And yet Cromwell sent by me a letter urging Parliament to get such forces as they had in readiness to give the enemy some check until he should be able to reach up to him. And still he added, as the last words, that trust in the Lord which is his constant battle-cry. How can England fear with such a General to lead her army?"

"And what of the General's family?" asked Mrs. Swaffham, "are they not afraid?"

"They are concerned and anxious, but not fearful. Indeed, the old Lady Cromwell astonished me beyond words. She smiled at the panic in the city, and said 'It is the beginning of triumph.' And when madame, the General's wife, spoke sharply, being in a heart-pain of loving care, she answered her daughter-in-law with sweet forbearance in words I cannot forget: 'Elizabeth, I know from a sure word the ground of my confidence. I have seen, I have heard. Rest on my assurance, and until triumph comes, retire to Him who is a sure hiding-place.' And the light on her aged face was wonderful; she was like one waiting for a great joy, restless at times, and going to the windows of her room as if impatient for its arrival. I count it a mercy and a privilege to have seen her faith in God, and in her great son. It is the substance of the thing we hope for, the evidence of what we shall all yet see," he cried in a tone of exaltation. "And now give me a strong, fresh horse; I will ride all night! Oh, that I were at great Cromwell's side! Charles Stuart has entered England, but Cromwell's dash and sweep after him will be something for men and angels to see! Not for my life would I miss it."

"Where do you expect to find Cromwell?"

"I left him at Queensferry in Fife, cutting off the enemy's victual. This would force the Stuart either to fight or go southward, for he has completely exhausted the North, and it seems he has taken the south road. But it is incredible that this move is either unexpected or unwelcome to our General. Once before, he put himself between England and the Scots, and 'how God succoured,' that is not well to be forgotten. Those were his words, and you will notice, that it is 'how God succoured,' not how Cromwell succeeded. With him it is always, The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle;" and Cluny's voice rose and his words rang out sharply to the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the stone pavement.

Then he turned to Jane. "Darling Jane! My Jane!" and kissing her, he said boldly to Mrs. Swaffham, "I ask your favour, madame. Jane has this hour promised to be my wife."

"Jane has then been very forward," answered Mrs. Swaffham with annoyance, "and both of you very selfish and thoughtless. While your mother England's heart is at her lips, in this dread extremity, you two must needs talk of love and marrying. I am grieved. And Jane's father has not been spoken to, and he is first of all. I can say neither yea nor nay in the matter."

"But you will surely speak for us. Give me a kind word, madame, ere I go." And she could not resist the youth's beauty and sweet nature, nor yet the thought in her heart that it might perhaps be his last request. If he should be slain in battle, and she had refused the kind word, what excuse would quiet her self-reproach? Then she looked kindly at him, and the thought of the young prince David going out to meet the uncircumcised Philistine who had defied the armies of the living God, came into her heart; and she drew down his face to hers and kissed and blessed him, saying, as Saul said to David, "Go, and the Lord be with thee."

Then he leaped into the saddle, and the horse caught his impatience and shared his martial passion, and with a loud neigh went flying over the land. Silently the two women watched the dark figure grow more and more indistinct in the soft, mysterious moonshine, until at length it was a mere shadow that blended with the indistinctness of the horizon.

"Thank you, dear mother," said Jane softly, and the mother answered, "In these times who dare say good-bye in anger? But let me tell you, Jane, you cannot now think of yourself first. England is at the sword's point; your father and brothers are living on a battle-field; your lover is only one of thousands fighting for the truth and the right, and his life is England's before it is yours. God and country must be served first, eh, my dear?"

"Yes, mother. First and best of all."

"When Neville has done his duty, he will come for you. He can no more bear to live without you than without his eyes. I see that."

Before Jane could reply, they heard the men and women coming from the harvesting. They were singing as they trailed homeward, their harsh, drawling voices in the night's silence sounding tired and pathetic and bare of melody. Jane slipped away to the music in her own heart, closing within herself that Love whose growth had been sweet and silent as the birth of roses.