Preston Fight: or, The Insurrection of 1715. Ainsworth William Harrison

there assembled thought more of the prince than of their devotions, but their behaviour was extremely decorous.

      The chapel was not larger than an ordinary room, and very simply furnished. In a small oaken pew at the upper end, on the right of the altar, sat the Chevalier de Saint George – almost concealed from view. In a similar pew on the left were the Earl of Derwentwater and his brother. On wooden benches behind were collected the servants – the women sitting by themselves on the left. Many a curious eye was fixed on the prince whenever he arose. The solemn service was admirably performed by Father Norham.

      Strange thoughts possessed Lord Derwentwater. In the family vault beneath the chapel lay his sire and grand-sire, both of whom had been devoted to the Stuarts. Might not their shades be hovering around? Exceedingly superstitious, the earl thought so, and so did Charles Radclyffe.

      The congregation had dispersed – long to remember the event.

      Before quitting the chapel, the prince said to the earl:

      “Are not some of your family buried here, my lord?”

      “My father and my grandfather,” replied the other. “And if aught could rouse them from their slumbers it would be your majesty’s presence.”

      The prince remained silent for a moment, looking very grave, and then said:

      “You will scarce credit me when I tell you that I saw – or fancied I saw – two figures standing between me and the altar. Their mournful looks seemed to convey a warning. I saw them only for a moment. They pointed to you and your brother, and then disappeared. What think you of this? Were they phantoms?”

      “I know not what to think,” replied the earl. “No such appearances have ever been beheld before, but then no prince of your royal house has ever before knelt within this chapel. We will consult Father Norham anon. Meantime, let me take your majesty to the garden. You must banish these gloomy thoughts.”

      A stroll through the charming gardens quickly produced the desired effect. As yet the prince had seen nothing of the beauties of the place, and was unacquainted with the commanding position of the castle. The view from the terrace enchanted him, and he remained for some time contemplating the lovely scene in silence, and then broke out into raptures. By his own request he was next taken to the deer-park, and halted on the bridge to look at the castle. It has already been mentioned that this was the best point from which the stately structure could be surveyed, and the prince was of that opinion.

      “How well the castle looks as it towers above us,” he cried, “and what a striking picture it makes, combined with this deep glen, the rushing stream, and yonder woods, with the Tyne in the distance! You could not have a nobler residence, cousin.”

      “Undoubtedly, my liege, I ought to be content with it,” rejoined the earl; “and so I am. Yet I must own I should prefer the old stronghold that once stood there, and of which you have just seen a relic; and had it not been demolished by my grandfather, Earl Francis, I would have preserved it. Imagine how well the stern old pile must have looked, perched on that height, and how completely it must have harmonised with this ravine, and with the woods. Its position and strength considered, it is not surprising that the Scottish marauders, though they often came in force, could never take it. The fortress might have stood a siege in our own time.”

      “Very true,” replied the prince, smiling. “And on that account its destruction may be regretted. Otherwise, the modern building is most to my taste. I could desire nothing better.”

      “I trust, ere long, Windsor Castle may be yours, my liege,” said Lord Derwentwater; “and then you will think little of Dilston.”

      “Dilston cannot vie with Windsor, that is certain, cousin. Nevertheless, it is a splendid place, and you are fortunate in possessing it. The mansion only wants one thing to make it perfect. You can guess what I mean. But I will tell you plainly. A lady ought to grace it.”

      “I shall wait till your majesty is restored before I take a wife,” said the earl.

      “Why wait?” said the Chevalier de Saint George. “Has no fair Northumbrian damsel caught your eye? I am told Tom Forster’s sister, Dorothy, is marvellously beautiful. She may not be rich, but you do not want a dower.”

      “Dorothy Forster is a very charming girl, I admit, and has many agreeable qualities, but I never thought seriously of her.”

      “Strange you should have alluded to her in one of your letters to me.”

      “Your majesty reminds me that I compared her very advantageously with her brother, who is a mere country squire, and not remarkable for wit, whereas Dorothy is extremely lively and clever, besides being very pretty. But I didn’t mean to intimate that I had fallen in love with her.”

      “You gave me that impression, I confess, cousin,” said the Chevalier de Saint George. “I fully expected your next letter would tell me you were engaged to her. Is she very young?”

      “About eighteen, I fancy.”

      “Just the age. And she rides well, I think you said?”

      “Admirably. Tom Forster keeps the best pack of hounds in the country, and she goes out with them.”

      “I only see one objection. Her brother does not belong to our religion.”

      “But she does,” rejoined the earl.

      “Then you cannot do better than make choice of her.”

      “Even if I were to take your majesty’s advice, it does not follow I should be accepted.”

      “Bah! the Earl of Derwentwater is not likely to be refused.”

      “Dorothy Forster will wed no one she does not love. Nor would I wed her unless certain I had won her heart.”

      “Have you any doubt upon the point, cousin?”

      “Your majesty is pleased to rally me.”

      “I want an answer to the question.”

      Just then an interruption to their discourse was offered by Charles Radclyife, who came hurriedly down to the bridge to announce that some visitors had arrived at the castle.

      “Newbiggin couldn’t send them away, and was driven to his wit’s end, for they would come in,” said Charles.

      “Who are they?” asked the earl.

      “Mr. Forster of Bamborough, and his sister,” replied Charles.

      “Indeed!” exclaimed the prince. “This is a lucky chance.”

      “It would have mattered little if they had been alone, my liege,” said Charles. “Unluckily, Sir John Webb of Canford, Lady Webb, and their daughter are with them, and the whole party evidently intend to stay here till tomorrow. Sir John and Lady Webb have brought a great coach with them and a pack of servants, but the two girls and Tom Forster came on horseback. Forster wouldn’t hear a word from Newbiggen, but told him he was sure his lordship would be glad to see them.”

      “And so I should, under other circumstances,” said the earl.

      “Heed me not,” cried the prince. “I am pleased at this opportunity of meeting Mr. Forster and Sir John Webb, both of whom I know are my warm partisans.”

      “Since your majesty does not object, I feel quite easy,” said the earl. “Where are the visitors?” he added, to his brother.

      “I left them on the lawn,” replied Charles. “I told them you had a friend with you – nothing more. Shall I prepare them, my liege!”

      “No,” replied the prince. “I will chose my own time for the disclosure.”

      “Haste back, then, and say I will be with them anon,” cried the earl.

      “And be careful to give them no hint.”

      “Your majesty may rely on me,” replied Charles, as he bowed and departed.

      “This is our North Country custom,” said the earl. “We visit each other without the slightest ceremony – take friends with us – and