Therefore, once a week or so, Charlie rode over early too Rockley, which was some five miles distant, and brought back Ciceley, cantering on her pony by his side, escorting her home again before nightfall.  Ciceley’s mother wondered, sometimes, that her husband, who in most matters set his will in opposition to hers, never offered any objection to the girl’s visits to Lynnwood.  She thought that, perhaps, he was pleased that there should be an intimacy between some member, at least, of his family, and Sir Marmaduke’s.  There were so few houses at which he or his were welcome, it was pleasant to him to be able to refer to the close friendship of his daughter with their cousins at Lynnwood.  Beyond this, Celia, who often, as she sat alone, turned the matter over in her mind, could see no reason he could have for permitting the intimacy.  That he would permit it without some reason was, as her experience had taught her, out of the question.

Ciceley never troubled her head about the matter.  Her visits to Lynnwood were very pleasant to her.  She was two years younger than Charlie Carstairs; and although, when he had once brought her to the house, he considered that his duties were over until the hour arrived for her return, he was sometimes ready to play with her, escort her round the garden, or climb the trees for fruit or birds’ eggs for her.

Such little courtesies she never received from Alured, who was four years her senior, and who never interested himself in the slightest degree in her.  He was now past eighteen, and was beginning to regard himself as a man, and had, to Ciceley’s satisfaction, gone a few weeks before, to London, to stay with an uncle who had a place at court, and was said to be much in the confidence of some of the Whig lords.

Sir Marmaduke was, about this time, more convinced than ever that, ere long, the heir of the Stuarts would come over from France, with men, arms, and money, and would rally round him the Jacobites of England and Scotland.  Charlie saw but little of him, for he was frequently absent, from early morning until late at night, riding to visit friends in Westmoreland and Yorkshire, sometimes being away two or three days at a time.  Of an evening, there were meetings at Lynnwood, and at these strangers, who arrived after nightfall, were often present.  Charlie was not admitted to any of these gatherings.

“You will know all about it in time, lad,” his father said.  “You are too young to bother your head with politics, and you would lose patience in a very short time.  I do myself, occasionally.  Many who are the foremost in talk, when there is no prospect of doing anything, draw back when the time approaches for action, and it is sickening to listen to the timorous objections and paltry arguments that are brought forward.  Here am I, a man of sixty, ready to risk life and fortune in the good cause, and there are many, not half my age, who speak with as much caution as if they were graybeards.  Still,