brought to the Castle, and he was full of gratitude and pleasure. Supper passed off more cheerfully than could have been expected; but its after-conversation drove the blood from Francesca's cheek to her heart, there to fever with anxiety, or freeze with fear.
"So I hear," said Lord Avonleigh, "that young Roundhead, Robert Evelyn, is excluded by name from the general pardon. But for him, that vacillating Henry Cromwell would have proclaimed Charles Stuart in Dublin upon his father's death."
"Is he a prisoner?" asked Albert, while Francesca gasped for breath.
"No; but he is too dangerous to let escape so easily. It is amazing what a hold those Evelyns have on the peasantry in this county; glad am I that we are to be rid of them, for I hate the very name."
"Francis was shot by that mad fanatic Johnstone," added Albert, turning to his sister, "before Aylmer's door—did you see anything of the prisoner?"
"Nay," interrupted Lord Avonleigh, "this is not the most agreeable subject wherewith to entertain our guest; you have ample time to talk over every event that ever happened to either. I see
