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. 28, 1863.] never agree in all that the most loyal people must say and do in such times as these. Your proper place is in a home of your own.”

Henrietta murmured that that could never be.

“That is where I think you are wrong,” her friend observed. “I think you not only mistaken, but seriously to blame. Ah! it seems hard to say so when you have crushed your own happiness. Well, well! I will not say all I think; for I cannot bear to see your distress. I will only remind you that there is another who suffers—”

“Do you think I need reminding?” Henrietta forced herself to say. “It was for his sake Oh, you do not know what it is for those who love so—so entirely, to think so differently about the thing which they must be always thinking and speaking about, and taking some course about. It is terrible to part, but—”

“But do you mean, my child, that you, sensible and religious as you are,—you, loving this lover of yours with such a heart as yours, cannot keep your temper where you and he differ? Is this possible?”

“If it were a matter of doctrine and belief,” said Henrietta, “we should have taken each our own part long ago, and have lived together in silence on that one point. But now, if the King is assailed, in war, or in a rude Parliament, and if Harry is among the assailants, what could his wife be to him if she felt as I do?”

“She might be the best of wives to him: she might be the most helpful to the King’s interests of all the women in England: she would hold the position of a heroine, and would earn the blessing pronounced on the peacemakers.”

“Do you really think so?” Henrietta murmured.

“I do: and I believe every real friend you have would say the same. Tell me, have you not been told these things before?”

“Oh yes; but everybody was on Harry’s side; and I knew better than they did why Harry could not be happy with me. They would not j believe me—(but I am sure he did in his heart)—that I should make him miserable.”

“But I who am on the other side think you wrong,—wrong to yourself,—wrong to Harry,—wrong to those to whom you owe loyalty.”

“Do you indeed?”

“See what opportunities for service you are throwing away! Think for a moment what you might have done by a wife and a daughter’s influence! Henrietta! this is a shrinking from. duty which I should not have expected from one so piously and dutifully reared, so—What did; you say, my love?”

“I am very unworthy, I know,” said the poor girl, struggling with her tears.

“Then rouse yourself to recover the path of duty, to redeem the time,” exclaimed Lady Carlisle, imagining that she was speaking in Puritan sympathy. “Consider whether your religion, and your loyalty, and your love, cannot; together guard your temper, and—Oh! I wish I could set before you what a course of duty offers itself to you!”

“It is too late now!” said Henrietta, in a tone which was meant to be calm.

“It may not be too late. If it should prove otherwise, promise me—Well, well! Be tranquil, my dear. How should I act in the matter? you ask—I who never saw this Harry of yours, and have not met his mother for many years. When I say it may not be too late, I speak from what I perceive in you. The inference is fair, is it not?”

Though disturbed in spirits, and weeping many tears, Henrietta was happier at this moment than for years past. She and her friend became very confidential. Lady Carlisle told her of the cruel straits their Majesties were in for want of money. She told of the despair of the Court on this head, because the King, they believed, never would have another Parliament and there was now no other way. Lady Carlisle and she were not so sure that there would never be another Parliament. The King was certainly out of spirits; and if all were known, it might come out that he rather repented of having routed the Parliament at the end of three weeks. Those who talked freely of their Majesties could little imagine the trials they had to undergo. In their position there were daily vexations, from friends as well as enemies. Not a week ago a real trial had overtaken the King and Court. They had lost poor Archy; and he was more missed than many a man of more dignity. Who was Archy? Did not everybody know who Archy was? He was the King’s jester. In times like these the King’s jester was really important,—really a blessing in withdrawing their Majesties’ minds from their troubles, and in diverting the Court while so many quarrels were arising. But it was the Archbishop’s pleasure that Archy should be punished for some words he had dropped, when in his cups, against his Grace. The poor fellow was in prison; and his master was certainly very dull without him: but it was his gracious way to yield in such cases.

Before the ladies reached the house they had exchanged promises of confidential correspondence. While Henrietta was with Sir Oliver, she would have nothing to report, because there was really nothing that she could do for the cause. She was lost there, her friend considered. But, if the time should come when she would be in the midst of people who ought to be glad to know the King better, she should have the means of instructing them. Lady Carlisle would keep her informed of the Royal views and aims, and the injuries they sustained; and Henrietta, on her part, would indicate in the freest way what His Majesty ought to do, or not to do, according to the Puritan view, and point out any particular danger which she might believe His Majesty exposed to. Thus would these friends consecrate their friendship to their King’s service. As she kissed Henrietta at the door of her chamber, Lady Carlisle said into her ear—

“Rest for an hour on that sofa, as I shall do on mine. And while you are resting, think what you might do now, if you were Harry’s wife.”

Henrietta’s old uncle admired her extremely that evening,—occupied as he was with his devotion to their Majesties: and, for her part, Henrietta scarcely knew her old uncle. He was always a gentleman, amidst all his oddities; but he was a different sort of gentleman at Basing from