’I never esteemed her much, said Nan.  ’She was a poor little white, spiritless thing, with a skin that they called ivory, and great brown eyes that looked at one like that young fawn with the broken leg.  If I had been Eustace, I would have had some one with a little more will of her own, and then he would not have been served as he was.’  For the next thing that was heard of her, and that by a mere chance, was that she was marred to Mynheer van Hunker, ’a rascallion of an old half-bred Dutchman,’ as my hot-tongued sister called him, who had come over to fatten on our misfortunes by buying up the cavaliers’ plate and jewels, and lending them money on their estates.  He was of noble birth, too, if a Dutchman could be, and he had an English mother, so he pretended to be doing people a favour while he was filling his own coffers; and, worst of all, it was he who had bought the chaplet of pearls, the King’s gift to the bravest of knights.

The tidings were heard in the midst of war and confusion, and so far as Nan knew, Eustace had made no moan; but some months later, when he was seeking a friend among the slain at Cropredy Bridge, he came upon Sir James Wardour mortally wounded, to whom he gave some drink, and all the succour that was possible.  The dying man looked up and said:  ’Mr. Rib’mont, I think.  Ah! sir, you were scurvily used.  My lady would have her way.  My love to my poor wench; I wish she were in your keeping, but—–­’ Then he gave some message for them both, and, with wandering senses, pained Eustace intensely by forgetting that he was not indeed Millicent’s husband, and talking to him as such, giving the last greeting; and so he died in my brother’s arms.

Eustace wrote all that needed to be said, and sent the letters, with the purse and tokens that Sir James had given him for them, with a flag of truce to the enemy’s camp.

Then came still darker days—­my father’s death at Marston Moor, the year of losses, and Eustace’s wound at Naseby, and his illness almost to death.  When he was recovering, Harry Merrycourt, to whom he had given his parole, was bound to take him to London for his trial, riding by easy stages as he could endure it, whilst Harry took as much care of him as if he had been his brother.  On the Saturday they were to halt over the Sunday at the castle of my Lord Hartwell, who had always been a notorious Roundhead, having been one of the first to take the Covenant.

Being very strong, and the neighbourhood being mostly of the Roundhead mind, his castle had been used as a place of security by many of the gentry of the Parliamentary party while the Royal forces were near, and they had not yet entirely dispersed, so that the place overflowed with guests; and when Harry and Eustace came down to supper, they found the hall full of company.  Lord Walwyn was received as if he were simply a guest.  While he was being presented to the hostess on coming down to supper, there was a low cry, then a confusion among the ladies, round some one who had fainted.