Part 13 (2/2)

”My name is Roger Copley, and I am making my way from London to my people, who reside in the west. There is no law, I believe, against my so doing.”

”There is no law for much that is done or undone,” the Roundhead said.

”Malignants are going about the country in all sorts of disguises, stirring up men to unG.o.dly enterprises, and we cannot be too particular whom we let pa.s.s. What hast thou been doing in London?”

”I have been serving my time as apprentice to Master Nicholas Fleming, the merchant in velvets and silks in the Chepe.”

”Hast thou any papers to prove thy ident.i.ty?”

”I have not,” Harry said; ”not knowing that such were needed. I have traveled thus far without interruption or question, and am surprised to find hindrance upon the part of an officer of the Commons.”

”You must turn your horse, and ride back with me into Abingdon,” the officer said. ”I doubt me much that you are as you pretend to be.

However, it is a matter which we can bring to the proof.”

Harry wondered to himself of what proof the matter was capable. But without a word he turned his horse's head toward Abingdon. Scarcely a word was spoken on the way, and Harry was meditating whether he should say that he had been staying with his friend Herbert. But thinking that this might lead the latter into trouble, he determined to be silent on that head. They stopped at the door of the princ.i.p.al trader in the town and the captain roughly told his prisoner to alight and enter with him.

”Master Williamson,” he said, ”bring out some pieces of velvet. This man, whom I suspect to be a Cavalier in disguise, saith that he has been an apprentice to Master Nicholas Fleming, a velvet dealer of London. I would fain see how far his knowledge of these goods extends. Bring out five or six pieces of various qualities, and put them upon your table promiscuously, and not in order of value.”

The mercer did as requested.

”These goods,” he said, ”were obtained from Master Fleming himself. I bought them last year, and have scarce sold a piece of such an article since.”

Harry felt rather nervous at the thought of being obliged to distinguish between the velvets, for although he had received some hints and instructions from the merchant, he knew that the appearance of one kind of velvet differed but slightly from that of the inferior qualities. To his satisfaction, however, he saw at the end of the rolls the pieces of paper intact upon which Master Fleming's private marks were placed.

”I need not,” he said, ”look at the velvets, for I see my master's private marks upon them, and can of course tell you their value at once.”

So saying, from the private marks he read off the value of each roll of velvet per yard, and as these tallied exactly with the amount which the mercer had paid for them, no further doubts remained upon the mind of the officer.

”These marks,” he said to the mercer, ”are, I suppose, private, and could not be read save by one in the merchant's confidence?”

”That is so,” the mercer replied. ”I myself am in ignorance of the meaning of these various symbols.”

”You will forgive me,” the Parliament officer said to Harry. ”In these times one cannot be too suspicious, and even the best friends of the Commons need not grudge a little delay in their journeyings, in order that the doings of the malignants may be arrested.”

Harry in a few words a.s.sured the officer that he bore him no malice for his arrest, and that, indeed, his zeal in the cause did him credit. Then again mounting his horse, he quietly rode out of Abingdon. This time he met with no difficulties, and an hour later entered Oxford.

Here he found his father and many of his acquaintances. A great change had come over the royal city. The tone of boastfulness and antic.i.p.ated triumph which had pervaded it before the second battle of Newbury had now entirely disappeared. Gloom was written upon all faces, and few entertained any hopes of a favorable termination to their cause. Here a year pa.s.sed slowly and heavily. The great proportion of Sir Henry Furness' troop were allowed to return to their farms, as at present there was no occasion for their services in the field.

All this time the king was negotiating and treating; the Parliament quarreling furiously among themselves. The war had languished everywhere. In the west a rising had been defeated by the Parliament troops. The Prince of Wales had retired to France; and there was now no force which could be called an army capable of taking the field.

The bitterness of the conflict had for a long time ceased; and in the general hope that peace was at hand, the rancor of Cavalier against Roundhead softened down, A great many of the adherents of Charles returned quietly to their homes, and here they were allowed to settle down without interruption.

The contrast between this state of things and that which prevailed in Scotland was very strong, and has been noted by more than one historian.

In England men struggled for principle, and, having fought the battle out, appeared to bear but little animosity to each other, and returned each to his own pursuits unmolested and unharmed. In Scotland, upon the other hand, after the defeat of Montrose, large numbers of prisoners were executed in cold blood, and sanguinary persecutions took place.

In Parliament the disputes between the Independents and Presbyterians grew more and more bitter, the latter being strengthened by the presence of the Scotch army in England. They were greatly in the majority in point of numbers; but the Independents made up for their numerical weakness by the violence of their opinions, and by the support of the army, which was entirely officered by men of extreme views.

<script>