"The praise of Lady Churchill would add even to the honours conferred by the King," replied Reginald, bending forward to kiss the hand extended to him. "Pardon me for this act."

"Willingly granted," cried Sarah, not altogether displeased at the homage thus rendered to her. 66 Valour generally pays deference to woman." "And always yield to beauty, madam."

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"If you begin to compliment me in that strain," replied Lady Churchill, we had better retire; and I think I heard you say something of the army, so come to the Princess and tell your tidings."

"Not of much moment," said Reginald, who could not avoid being struck with the evident anxiety displayed by the favourite, and at the unusual graciousness of her manner, "but I obey." Lady Churchill led the way to the private reception-room of the Princess, where Anne sat writing at a small table, and by her side stood Florence Sackville.

As Anne raised her head from her occupation and looked inquiringly at her favourite, Lady Churchill, taking Reginald by the hand, led him forward, saying, "Allow me to present to your Royal Highness the last of the knights." "Gladly do we welcome you," said Anne, motioning to him to be seated, for she loved to assume airs of royalty as well as to unbend and relax as she did in private.

"Sir Reginald has brought us news from the army," said Lady Churchill. "Ah, indeed! What is it?" said the Princess, eagerly.

"A courier arrived to-day to her majesty," said Reginald, "and he brings the intelligence that the King is confident of success, and that he has already repulsed the invader."

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Repulsed!" said the Princess. "Yes, in a skirmish," said Reginald, "but we trust this is but a precursor of his future success."

Lady Churchill looked at Florence Sackville as she said to Reginald, "Did the despatch mention who had joined the Prince?"

"Yes, some names of note; among them Sir Arthur Sackville."

"No one of greater consequence?" asked the Princess.

"Not many-a few disaffected noble

men and gentlemen; and I am directed to inform you that her majesty has given directions to have prayers offered up to-morrow for the success of the King's arms."

"In the meantime," said Lady Churchill, "Sir Reginald, allow me to present you to a former acquaintance of yours. Florence, this is the St. Victor, the resurrection of the knights of old, and as ready to fight for a lady's smile, or wear her glove, as any crusader."

Florence, who had listened with alarm to the intelligence communicated by Reginald, blushed deeply at the turn so unexpectedly and artfully given by Lady Churchill to the conversation; and, perceiving the fine eyes of the young courtier fixed on hers, she trembled as she replied to his salutation.

"Now," said the Princess, "we will leave you to talk over your adventures since the night of the ball;" and so saying, she and her favourite left the apartment.

Alone with Florence! How often had he imagined this! How often had he told over the words, the burning words, he would speak to her! How often had he kissed her glove to draw inspiration from it! How often had he raised her, like an image in a shrine, to bow down to and adore! And now he was alone with her, and all the passionate tenderness—all the rapt devotion— could find no utterance in words. He stammered-he faultered-he blushed; and Reginald for once felt that true love is as superior to mere gallantry as the stars are above the earth.

"Sir Reginald," said Florence, after a pause of some minutes, "the old treaty holds as regards our names—I ask not yours, you seek not mine."

"Agreed, fair lady; but now I know somewhat of thine, Florence."

"In that we are equal, for I know yours, Reginald!"

"Would that such were the only name you ever breathed."

"Ah, Sir Reginald! You should not seek to turn the head of a poor country maiden with your fine speeches. The next court beauty you meet, keep your pretty sayings for her."

"Ah, madam!" said Reginald, 66 my thoughts, indeed, like the stars, may wander sometimes, but they are more often fixed-and fixed on you."

I presume, then, that, like Will Shakspeare's heroines, Hermia and Helena, you have grown up together."

"Ah! I have not read that old author yet," replied Florence; "his works are out of date; though Henry used to read them often, and say the wits of these days were not comparable to glorious Will; but friend and I were my brought up together."

Reginald felt a pang at his heart as he heard Florence pronounce the name of his brother. Oh, horror! if she loved him, how accursed by fate would he be; and his conscience reproached him for the twelve long years that had elapsed since he had seen that brother or that sister, and it was with a constrained air that he continued the conversation.

Yet an hour fleeted on ere they stirred from the chamber. Now discussing Sir Godfrey Kneller and his painting, now the position of the Princess with the Queen, and the danger of the times; and it was not until Florence was summoned by the Princess that Reginald left her he to dream of her, and she, perchance, to think of him,

Sunday, the 26th of November, brought dismay and despair to court. Churchill had deserted to the Prince of Orange, the King was retreating to London, and vowed vengeance on the traitors. The Queen, in a paroxysm of anger, commanded the guards to be doubled round the chambers of the Princess Anne, who, in trepidation and dismay, lay weeping in the arms of Lady Churchill. "He will kill you! he will kill you!" she repeated, amidst her sobs and tears. "I will jump out of the window rather than be found here by my father. George will have gone too; and, Sarah, if he takes you I shall die." "Calm yourself," said the favourite, whose presence of mind did not desert her at this crisis; 66 we shall escape."

"Florence," said the Princess," can you help us?"

"Madam," said Florence, my cousin Dorset could, if he would."

66 " we

Right, child," said Sarah; must rouse him. If Compton aid us, and Dorset, we are secure."

An hour arranged the plan; and while Mary Beatrice, with all the vehemence of her nature, was inveighing to Reginald Oakwood against the treachery and duplicity of Lady Churchill and her husband, Anne prepared for her flight.

At midnight, the Princess, Sarah, Lady Churchill, and Florence Sackville, stole down the back stairs, in cloaks, and warmly muffled, and gained the courtyard.

At that moment Reginald Oakwood, returning from her majesty, crossed the court, and seeing the three figures, hastened towards them.

"Our only hope is in you, Florence," said Sarah, in a whisper. In a moment Florence advanced to Reginald, and stood before him. The light scarcely revealed her features, but love is ever keen-sighted.

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Lady, what brings you out at this hour of night?" said Reginald, pausing, while the others gained the door.

"I go to Westminster Abbey," said Florence, my mother and I go to pray there at a midnight service tonight."

"Strange!" replied her questioner.

"Not at all, Sir Reginald; and by the memories connected with our last meeting there, I entreat you to let us pass."

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But who was the third ?" inquired the knight, already dismissing suspicion from his mind.

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Only an attendant of ours."

"Pass, then," said Reginald; " and if you meet the guard, the word for the night is, the Church and King for for ever.'

"Thanks, Sir Reginald," said Florence, as she hastily followed her companions, and reached the street unchallenged, where she found Anne and Sarah already seated in a hackney carriage, driven by the gallant and accomplished Dorset, and guarded by the Bishop of London, Compton, who exchanged his ecclesiastical garments for the dress of a footman. Entering the carriage hastily, Florence found her

self once more with her mother, who had, in conjunction with Compton, managed the details of the escape.

While they pursued their way to Epping Forest, the next morning horror and confusion reigned in Whitehall. The screams of the attendants, shrieking and bewailing the fate of their mistress, who was believed to be imprisoned by the Queen, mingled with the accusations of murder freely brought against Mary Beatrice by the friends of the Churchills, the examination of the guards, the despair of Reginald Oakwood at finding himself outwitted, though he admired the courage and fidelity of Florence more than ever, the distraction of the Queen, and the

angry cries of the populace, who persisted in their belief that their favourite Anne was lying murdered in the palace-all these combined, made the 27th of November 1688 a terrible and anxious day.

As the shades of evening gathered over the scene, James the Second arrived at his capital, with the traces of bodily and mental suffering strongly imprinted on his countenance. As he entered Whitehall, he heard the fatal news from the clamorous accusations of the mob; and gathering its truth from the countenances of those around him, the monarch burst into tears, as he bitterly exclaimed, "May God help me! for my own children have forsaken me."

WHEN Reginald Oakwood recovered from the mortification which the flight of the Princess Anne had caused himmortification the more keen, because Florence Sackville had been the occasion of it-though his pride was still wounded by the deception practised on him, yet his own heart acquitted Florence of any guilt in the transaction. Sir Godfrey Kneller, who called on him a day or two after the escape, found Reginald in much agitation, the chamber in disorder, and its inmate pacing up and down. "Vy, dear Sir Reginald, vat is dis?" seeing the room strewn with papers. "Are you turned a minister of de state ?"

"Faith no, Sir Godfrey; but ladies, it seems, are. Here is your fair friend —an arrant conspirator?"

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'My fair friend?"

"Yes; Florence Sackville ! Nay, man! start not; I know her name now. These letters, intercepted by one of our party, reveal the truth."

"And do you, den, blame her?” cried Kneller. "Troth, by Got, she is a fair wench. More courage in her little finger den in your whole body, Mister Reginald."

BELL'S Mary Queen of Scots.

"Blame her? Nay, I blame her not !" said Oakwood. With her education, with such a father, how could it be otherwise? By heavens ! she is a truehearted girl, and I fully pardon her deceit."

"Deceit!" said the painter; "dat vas no deceit, to save her mistress and her fader. Deceit ! in such a cause?"

"Ha, Sir Godfrey! are you turning, too? Prince's-man, or King's-man!

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Neder, but von poor painter," replied Kneller, perceiving how nearly he had betrayed himself and his predilections.

"Neder; but my heart warmed at her daring in de flight, whether it would or no!"

"Ah, Sir Godfrey! if you were young now, how you would be in love with her?"

"But you spare me dat, St. Victor," said Kneller, laughing.

"And gladly, Sir Godfrey," replied Reginald. "I never saw one to equal her; and I love her the more, because she now seems unattainable to me, unless, indeed, her father”—here he paused a moment, and the painter concluded the sentence—“ her fader be taken, and you save him."

We know not how it is, but true love in the heart nerves a man to do more great and glorious acts than the most powerful promptings of ambition; and when the dear object of one's affections seem farthest removed from you, then it is that all the energy of the soul is brought into action, and men try to ascend the ladder of fame. As Rochefoucauld observes, " Absence extinguishes small passions, and increases great ones, as the wind blows out tapers, but kindles fires." And so with Reginald Oakwood. His love for Florence prevaded his every act, coloured his every thought, shone in every word he uttered, and made him long to distinguish himself in the annals of that most momentous period of the history of our country.

The opportunity was soon afforded him. The weak and vacillating monarch, a prey to mental and bodily disorder, changing his purpose daily, at length determined upon the suicidal step of sending his Queen and the young Prince to France, thus putting the heir of the crown into the hands of Louis the Fourteenth.

Reginald Oakwood was summoned to the private cabinet of the Queen, early on the 2d of December, and there he found James the Second alone.

"Sir Reginald," said the King," I have a secret to communicate to you. On your honour and fidelity I may depend, though, God knows, all have deserted

"Not all, your majesty. I would lay down my life for you."

"I have a secret," said the King, nervously repeating the sentence.

"Does any one else know of it, your majesty?" answered Reginald, fearing lest it was some wild and extravagant idea which the King now entertained, from the uncertainty of his manner and his embarrassed air.

"Yes; but you will be satisfied when you know who they are-the Queen and the Count de Lauzun, and the nephew of St. Victor will not forget Dunkirk.

"Never, your majesty," replied the young knight, remembering how the life of General St. Victor had been saved by James the Second at the battle of Dunkirk.

The king, after a moment's consideration, then informed Reginald that he designed to make the Queen cross to France on Tuesday, and that he wished Reginald to arrange for her departure. "And, perchance," said the monarch, "for that of the Prince of Wales also."

"The Prince of Wales, your majesty! Oh, do not, I eutreat you, send the heir of your crown out of the country which he may one day govern."

"Will you, too, desert me then?" cried the king, throwing himself back in his chair. "Go then, sir, to the usurper !"

"What have I said or done, your majesty," said Reginald, throwing himself on his knees before James, "to deserve such a reproach as this? My life, my heart is yours. I obey without a question all that you command."

"Rise, then, Sir Reginald," replied the monarch. "We do not doubt you. Arrange to-night, then, with the Count de Lauzun for her majesty's departure. Unto you I commend the heir of this crown.

The 10th of December witnessed the execution of the plan of the King. When the clocks of the city tolled forth the hour of midnight, the Queen bade farewell to her husband; and, taking her precious child in her arms, prepared for her escape. The gay, the gallant, the chivalrous De Lauzun, and Reginald Oakwood, dressed as seamen, were her only attendants, save the two nurses of the infant prince. The night was wet, and the storm rising. From the city, borne on the wind, came shouts and cries from the excited mobs who nightly paraded the streets to rob and plunder. Far off could be seen, against the dull and heavy December sky, the flames of a house burned by the infuriated populace. Nearer, the tramp of the sentinels, the watchword of the guard, the pelting of the rain. Such was the night when the fair and unfortunate Mary Beatrice of Modena quitted Whitehall for ever.

Passed the guards-safely in the coach-they could breathe more freely. The beautiful face of the Queen, white with agitation, as she clasped her babe