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

the greatest pleasure,” replied the priest.

      On Anna's appearance, Lord Derwentwater, who was standing with the company on the terrace, came forward to meet her; and as he approached, he remarked that she looked very pale. This did not detract from her beauty, but rather gave interest to her countenance—at least, in his eyes. He made some slight allusion to the circumstance, but she laughed it off.

      Not much passed between them, for the prince presently came up to offer her his greetings, and by this time her cheek was flushed.

      “I have news for you, fair lady,” said his highness, “and I desire to be the first to communicate it. I do not mean to rob you of your lover, so you may rest quite easy on that score. My proposed journey to London will not be undertaken. A messenger has just arrived at the castle bringing me a letter from the Earl of Mar, Secretary of State to Queen Anne. His lordship had engaged that I should see the queen, and led me to hope that great results would follow from the interview. These confident expectations are now at an end, and my project must be given up. Lord Mar writes that the queen, forgetful of her promises, refuses to receive me, and that if I should present myself at Saint James's Palace, he will not answer for my safety. Under such circumstances, it would be madness to make the attempt It is well that I arranged with the Earl of Mar to write to me here, as if I had not heard from him, I should have started on the journey. What might then have befallen me I know not. Perchance, imprisonment in the Tower, in hope of compelling me to relinquish my pretentions to the crown—but that I never would have done.”

      “Your majesty need not give us that assurance,” cried Anna. “But imprisonment would have been grievous, and might have disheartened your friends.”

      “From the first I have been opposed to the scheme, as your majesty is aware,” said Lord Derwentwater; “and I cannot, therefore, affect to regret its abandonment.”

      “I do not wonder you are better pleased to remain where you are, cousin,” said the prince.

      “I shall be far better pleased if your majesty will decide upon summoning all your partisans to arms,” said the earl.

      “Nothing would rejoice me more than to see ten thousand men assembled at the castle,” said Anna with increased enthusiasm, “and eager for their king to lead them on to victory. That is how I should like to see your majesty march to London—and Lord Derwentwater with you.”

      “Ay, I will never be left behind,” cried the earl.

      Fire lighted up the prince's eyes as they spoke, but it faded away.

      “It cannot be,” he said. “It cannot be.”

      “What cannot be, my liege?” cried Anna, regarding him fixedly. “Not the insurrection? Not the march to London?”

      “No,” he replied. “The Earl of Mar, in his letter counsels me to make no immediate movement.”

      “For what reason?” demanded Lord Derwentwater in surprise.

      “He gives no reason,” rejoined the prince. “But Lord Mar knows the feeling of the clans, and evidently deems the present juncture unpropitious to a rising.”

      “I cannot tell what may be the state of the clans,” said Lord Derwentwater, scarcely able to repress his impatience; “but I am certain the opportunity is favourable in the North of England—as can soon be shown, if your majesty will give the signal.”

      “I will not commit myself to any decisive step now, my lord,” said the prince, who when thus urged, seemed to shrink from the enterprise. “Nor do I think it will be prudent for me to remain here long.”

      “What danger does your majesty apprehend?” cried the earl. “All are devoted to you. There are no traitors in the castle.”

      “But I have many enemies in the country, and the Earl of Mar bids me 'beware,'” said the prince.

      “We will defend you against your enemies, my liege,” said Lord Derwentwater. “You need not fear them. Immediate preparations shall be made.”

      “No haste is needful, cousin,” said the prince. “I have a strong guard enough,” he added, glancing at Colonel Oxburgh and his friends, who were standing at a little distance. “Let the day pass tranquilly—if it will. To-morrow we will consider what shall be done.”

      “Heaven grant your majesty may change your mind in the interim!” observed Anna.

      “If you exercise your powers of persuasion, fair lady, there is no saying what you may accomplish,” said the prince, gallantly.

      At this moment a bell was heard, and Newbiggin came forth with two other servants in livery, and respectfully announced breakfast.

      The prince offered his hand to Anna and led her to the house, and the rest of the party followed.

XIII.—THE BETROTHAL.

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      A profuse breakfast, served in the good old style, awaited them in the dining-room. The sideboard groaned with the weight of huge cold joints, hams, tongues, and pasties; and broiled trout and salmon in abundance appeared on the table. How many good things there were besides in the shape of cutlets and omelettes, we cannot tell, but nothing seemed wanting. Chocolate was handed to the ladies, but claret suited the gentlemen best, though in some instances a flagon of strong ale was preferred.

      Breakfast over, the ladies withdrew to prepare for the ceremony appointed to take place in the chapel, while the prince again walked forth on the terrace, in company with Lord Derwentwater and Sir John Webb, and gazed with fresh delight at the prospect.

      Colonel Oxburgh and his companions, with Tom Forster, adjourned to the stables. There was a good deal of conjecture among them as to the prince's plans, which now seemed quite undecided; but they came to the conclusion that no rising would take place. At the same time, they all rejoiced that the hazardous—and as they deemed it useless—journey to London had been abandoned.

      “Something ought to be done,” cried Forster. “But it puzzles me to say what.”

      “Have patience,” said Colonel Oxbugh. “Depend upon it we shan't remain long idle. His majesty will be forced to make a move of some kind.”

      Long before the hour appointed for the betrothal, the little chapel was filled. All the household craved permission to witness the ceremony, and none were refused. The guests entered at the same time, and found places where they could. But little room was left, as may be imagined, when all these persons were accommodated. In the large pew were the prince with Charles Radclyffe, Mr. Forster and his sister—the latter looking bright and blooming as usual.

      Lord Derwentwater was standing at the door of the little edifice in momentary expectation of the arrival of her to whom he was about to be affianced. She came, leaning on her father's arm, and attended by her mother—not decked in bridal attire—not draped in a bridal veil—for such adornments would have been unsuitable to the occasion, but arrayed in a charming costume of azure satin and lace.

      After salutations had passed, Sir John Webb consigned his lovely daughter to the earl, and followed them with Lady Webb.

      An irrepressible murmur of admiration burst forth as the youthful pair moved towards the altar, where they immediately knelt down, and a group was formed behind them of which the prince was the principal figure—his highness having come with the others from the pew.

      Not till a prayer was recited could the spectators obtain a glimpse of the scene at the altar, and if this was quickly hidden from their sight they heard the vow pronounced that bound the pair together, and they likewise heard Father Norham's benediction.

      Those near the altar saw the earl embrace his affianced bride as they rose together,