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as they were alone together, Lady Webb embraced her daughter with more than her customary warmth, and again congratulated her on her good fortune.

      “You are now in the most enviable position in which a girl can be placed,” she said. “You have obtained as a husband one of the richest and most powerful nobles in the land, and who, in addition to these recommendations, has youth, good looks, and extreme amiability. Could you desire more?”

      “No, dearest mamma,” she replied. “I ought to be grateful, and I am grateful. I do not deserve so much. I ought to return thanks to Heaven for its great goodness towards me. I should like to see Father Norham alone.”

      “I entirely approve of your resolution, my dear child,” replied her mother. “Remain here. I will send the holy father to you.”

      She then left her, and the interval between her departure and the good priest's appearance was passed in prayer.

      Father Norham found her on her knees before a small image of the Blessed Virgin, which was in the room, and did not interrupt her.

      When she arose, he expressed his great satisfaction at finding her thus employed.

      “I am now certain his lordship has chosen well,” he said.

      “I hope he will never regret the step he has taken, father,” she rejoined.

      “Strive earnestly to make him happy, dear daughter, and you cannot fail,” said the priest. “Have you aught to say to me?”

      “I desire to disburden my conscience, father,” she replied. “I have not much upon it, but I shall feel easier when I have spoken.”

      “You will do well, daughter,” he said.

      He then sat down, and she knelt beside him, and cleared her breast of all that weighed upon it.

      It was not more than many a maiden would have to avow, but the good father was strict, and imposed a slight penance upon her.

      “You must debar yourself from the society of him you love till to-morrow,” he said.

      She uttered an exclamation, but the priest went on:

      “For the rest of the day you must remain in the seclusion of this chamber, so that your thoughts may be undisturbed. Part of the night must be passed in vigil and prayer. This will be a fitting preparation for the ceremony you are about to go through.”

      “What will Lord Derwentwater think, father?” she asked uneasily.

      “I will take care he receives such explanation as may be necessary,” he replied. “But I again enjoin solitude and reflection. Later on, I will take you to the chapel, where your vigils must be kept till midnight. Promise me not to quit this room, without my sanction.”

      “I will obey you, father,” she rejoined.

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      A GRAND dinner was given that day in the great banquet-ing-hall of the castle, at which the prince and all the guests assisted with the exception of her, whom the noble host would have preferred to all the others. Being told by Lady Webb that her daughter was rather overcome by the excitement of the morning, and deemed it best to keep her room, he submitted to the disappointment with the best grace he could.

      The dinner was magnificent, though little time had been allowed for its preparation. Still with the resources at Lord Derwentwater's command, a great deal can be accomplished. The prince sat on the right of the earl, and on his lordship's left was placed Lady Webb. Next to her ladyship was Colonel Oxburgh, and next to the prince on the right, was Sir John Webb. Then came the Squire of Bamborough. We cannot record how the rest of the company was placed, but we must mention that the fair Dorothy was not very far from Charles Radclyffe, who sat at the foot of the table. Undoubtedly, the party lacked its chief attraction—at least in the eyes of Lord Derwentwater—but he was so much occupied by the prince that he had not much time to think of the fair absentee; and besides, Lady Webb assured him that there was not the slightest cause for uneasiness.

      The Chevalier de Saint George was in high spirits. No contretemps of any kind had occurred since his arrival at Dilston. All the guests were devoted to his cause, and some of them were his warmest partisans. Of the attachment of Sir John Webb and Colonel Oxburgh, he had no doubt. Of Forster's loyalty he was not quite so sure, and he therefore paid him particular attention. But he had a gracious word for every one, and not a single person present could complain that the prince had over-looked him.

      Moreover, his highness took care to make it understood that he desired his presence should be no restraint to the company.

      The dinner therefore passed off admirably, and as the wine was not stinted, and bumpers were quaffed according to the good old custom, the enthusiasm of the guests rose to a very high pitch, and could scarcely be repressed. But it soon found vent when the cloth was drawn, and glasses were filled to the brim. The noble host arose and with him rose every guest—save one—and the hall rang with shouts of “Long live King James the Third.”

      Lady Webb and Dorothy then disappeared, and all the servants having left the room, except Newbeggin, whose discretion could be relied on, some serious discussion took place.

      As yet the prince had not made known his design of seeking an interview with the queen, his sister; and it was now, at his highness's request, disclosed by Lord Derwentwater. A deep silence ensued.

      “It appears that you do not approve my plan, gentlemen,” remarked the prince after a short pause.

      “My liege,” replied Colonel Oxburgh, answering for the others, “we all hoped and believed that you were come to call us to arms, and we cannot conceal our disappointment when we find that, instead of making a determined attempt to recover the throne, which we are persuaded would be successful, your majesty is about to appeal to the queen, who has no sympathy or affection for you, and is hostile to our religion. Rest assured the attempt will be useless, if it does not lead to other ill consequences. Abandon it, therefore, I pray you. On the other hand, there is every reason to believe that an insurrection in your majesty's favour would be attended with success. That we are fully prepared for it, I will not assert. But a very short time will enable us to get ready a sufficient force to march towards London, and we shall gather strength as we go on. None can be better acquainted with the feeling of the country than myself and my friends, who have visited the houses of half the Jacobites and High Church Tories in the North of England, and I can state positively that a rising would be hailed by many influential persons with the greatest enthusiasm. Should your majesty decide on leading the army in person—as I trust you will—thousands will flock to your standard, and you will find yourself resistless as well from the number of your followers as from the justice of your cause. That your majesty is the rightful King of England cannot be denied. Why then allow the crown to be kept from you—even for a day? Do not sue for it, but demand it; and if it be refused, take it!”

      The exclamations that arose from the company made it evident that they all agreed with the speaker. But though stirred by the colonel's energetic language, the prince was not to be turned from his purpose.

      “I have already explained to Lord Derwentwater my reasons for the course I am about to pursue,” he said. “Like yourselves he has endeavoured to dissuade me from my design—but ineffectually. I propose to set out for London to-morrow, or next day, at the latest—and his lordship will accompany me.”

      “Without an escort?” cried Colonel Oxburgh. “That must not be. Since your majesty is resolved on this rash step, my friends and myself will attend you. Do I not express your wishes, gentlemen?” he added to the others.

      “Most certainly,” replied Captain Wogan, answering for the rest. “We shall be proud to escort his majesty, if he will permit us.”

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