Now this good Lord Churchill—­for one might call him good, by comparison with the very bad people around him—­granted without any long hesitation the order for my safe deliverance to the Court of King’s Bench at Westminster; and Stickles, who had to report in London, was empowered to convey me, and made answerable for producing me.  This arrangement would have been entirely to my liking, although the time of year was bad for leaving Plover’s Barrows so; but no man may quite choose his times, and on the while I would have been quite content to visit London, if my mother could be warned that nothing was amiss with me, only a mild, and as one might say, nominal captivity.  And to prevent her anxiety, I did my best to send a letter through good Sergeant Bloxham, of whom I heard as quartered with Dumbarton’s regiment at Chedzuy.  But that regiment was away in pursuit; and I was forced to entrust my letter to a man who said that he knew him, and accepted a shilling to see to it.

For fear of any unpleasant change, we set forth at once for London; and truly thankful may I be that God in His mercy spared me the sight of the cruel and bloody work with which the whole country reeked and howled during the next fortnight.  I have heard things that set my hair on end, and made me loathe good meat for days; but I make a point of setting down only the things which I saw done; and in this particular case, not many will quarrel with my decision.  Enough, therefore, that we rode on (for Stickles had found me a horse at last) as far as Wells, where we slept that night; and being joined in the morning by several troopers and orderlies, we made a slow but safe journey to London, by way of Bath and Reading.

The sight of London warmed my heart with various emotions, such as a cordial man must draw from the heart of all humanity.  Here there are quick ways and manners, and the rapid sense of knowledge, and the power of understanding, ere a word be spoken.  Whereas at Oare, you must say a thing three times, very slowly, before it gets inside the skull of the good man you are addressing.  And yet we are far more clever there than in any parish for fifteen miles.

But what moved me most, when I saw again the noble oil and tallow of the London lights, and the dripping torches at almost every corner, and the handsome signboards, was the thought that here my Lorna lived, and walked, and took the air, and perhaps thought now and then of the old days in the good farm-house.  Although I would make no approach to her, any more than she had done to me (upon which grief I have not dwelt, for fear of seeming selfish), yet there must be some large chance, or the little chance might be enlarged, of falling in with the maiden somehow, and learning how her mind was set.  If against me, all should be over.  I was not the man to sigh and cry for love, like a Romeo:  none should even guess my grief, except my sister Annie.

But if Lorna loved me still—­as in my heart of hearts I hoped—­then would I for no one care, except her own delicious self.  Rank and title, wealth and grandeur, all should go to the winds, before they scared me from my own true love.