My closest companion, Ralph Granville, a nephew of the staunch Royalist, Sir Bevil Granville, of the Duchy of Cornwall, also remained at school for similar reasons, as did a score or more of other scholars, and, thanks to the kindness of the dominie, we were permitted a considerable amount of freedom, the only condition being that we should be within gates every night ere sundown.

On that fateful day, Granville and I had left Newport early in the morning, and had wandered far over the country towards the frowning heights of St. Catherine's Down, and already the afternoon had far advanced ere we gained the summit of Pan Down, a lofty ridge of chalk that overlooks the capital of the Isle of Wight on its southern side.

Before us lay the town of Newport, the golden rays of the setting sun falling athwart the yellow sandstone of the tower of St. Thomas' Church, and the red-tiled roofs that clustered densely around the dominating edifice. Beyond we could trace the narrow, thread-like estuary of the Medina, as it carved its way between the low hills to join the blue waters of the Solent; while, on the far side, we could see the dim outlines of the Hamptonshire coast, separated by the broad expanse of Southampton Water, the tree-clad masses of the New Forest contrasting vividly with the eastern portion of the bare ridge of Portsdown.

Away on our left rose the stern, grey outlines of Carisbrooke Castle, the Royal banner hanging limply in the still air from the flagstaff on the summit of the keep.

"Dost think these rebellious knaves will fight?" asked Ralph.

"Fight? Nay," I replied. "A slight bickering here and there, and all signs of defiance to His Majesty will be stamped out with a heavy hand."

"I don't know about that. Some of the adherents of the Parliament seem to be made of stern stuff. For my part, I think there will be fighting, and much of it."

"And what of it? The King has but to raise his hand, and loyal gentlemen from all parts of the kingdom will flock to his banner, even as my father has already done."

"What will you do if war breaks out?"

"Do? Why, make my way over to Hamptonshire find out where my father is, and join him."

"But, Humphrey, you are only fifteen! What can a lad of fifteen do?"

"A lot when he makes up his mind," I replied, stoutly. "Besides, I am as tall and as strong as many a lad of nineteen."

"Be that as it may, we must look to the present," rejoined Granville. "'Tis nearly sunset, and, if we want to ramble afield to-morrow, it behoves us to hurry back to-night, for the dominie will surely forbid us leave if we are late in returning. Ah! What's that?"

We were already stepping briskly down the grassy slope, when a dull booming reached our ears. Instinctively we paused, and, looking in the direction of the sound, which continued without intermission, we saw a thick, white cloud of smoke rising in the direction of Portsmouth.

"A salute!" exclaimed Granville.

"A salute, forsooth!" I replied, contemptuously. "'Tis an irregular discharge of ordnance. Mark my word, they have come to hand-grips! But 'tis no good purpose to tarry here; possibly, in the town we'll hear tidings."

So saying, we resumed our rapid pace, and, gaining the level road at the foot of the down, we made for Shide, which lay betwixt us and Newport.

Hardly had we reached the outskirts of the little village, when the noise of an approaching cavalcade caused us to stop and look behind us.

Riding furiously, with loose rein, came a score or so of horsemen, richly dressed, and armed with swords and pistols, their curls floating behind them in disorder.

Next came a lumbering chariot, drawn by six horses with outriders, and within it we had a momentary glimpse of a lady, stern-faced, yet handsome withal.

The carriage was immediately followed by a number of bronzed and bearded soldiers, accoutred with breastplates, steel helmets, leather breeches, and jack boots, each man carrying a musquetoon on his hip, a pair of pistols in his holsters, and a stout broadsword hanging from a cross-belt of buff leather, which was counterbalanced by a fully charged bandolier.

We had barely time to flatten ourselves against the chalk bank at the side of the road before the troop had passed us, leaving a thick cloud of white dust, which hung motionless in the still air for several minutes after they had disappeared along the road leading to the castle of Carisbrooke.

Wondering what might be the meaning of this swiftly moving cavalcade, we resumed our steps towards the town of Newport; but hardly had we come within sight of the market-place when we perceived, by the great concourse of townsfolk present, that something untoward was taking place.

At this all thoughts of gaining the school gates before sunset vanished out of our heads, and, by dint of pushing and edging between the tightly packed masses of people, we succeeded in working our way to the forefront of the crowd.

Standing on a flight of stone steps outside a half-timbered house was a tall, lean, ill-conditioned man, dressed in a sombre garb of russet, set off only by a plain white linen collar and a buff sword-belt, while his thin, pale face, disfigured by a wide, thin-lipped mouth, long nose, and small black ferrety eyes, was surmounted by a steeple-crowned hat, which, resting on a pair of huge, projecting ears, almost concealed his close-cropped hair.

"'Tis the mayor," whispered Ralph. "Hark! He talks rank sedition."

"And will ye, my friends," exclaimed this worthy magistrate in a thin, piping voice, "allow this man, Charles, to ride rough-shod over your heads? Or will ye join with the people of England in putting down this sink of iniquity in our midst? What of our ancient rights and privileges—have they not been trodden in the dust and our birthright sold by this son of Belial for a mess of pottage? Up! up! I say, and join in the undoing of the tyrant. Where is this man Charles? He hath fled—fled from the City of London, and no man knoweth whither! News hath arrived that the trainbands have sided with the Parliament, the seaports have declared for liberty and freedom, and even now George Goring holds Portsmouth against the——"

"Nay, Master Mayor," shouted a bull-lunged spectator. "Therein thou art wrong. Goring hath declared for His Majesty King Charles, whom God preserve; and even now thy foul rabble yap round the gates of that town, afraid to venture therein!"

Cheers and groans greeted this announcement, and for the moment the traitorous mayor was taken aback.

"How know you that this be true, Master Rich?" he asked suspiciously.

"Considering I came hither but this morning, I am well prepared to abide by what I have said," replied the interrupter boldly. "And I tell thee, Mr. Mayor, what thou hast said shall be duly recorded against thee, and within a week thy head will grace the tower of St. Thomas."

Upon this there was a considerable tumult, some siding with the Royalist, though the majority upheld the mayor, till above the noise came a hoarse, authoritative voice shouting:

"Way! Way! I ride on affairs of State!"

The crowd gave way right and left, and, urging a restive horse through the press, a mail-clad man rode towards the spot where the mayor stood.

The new-comer was a heavy, thick-set man, with a bronzed face, pointed beard, and an upturned moustache, while his iron-grey hair was cut close to his massive head.

He was bareheaded, his steel cap hanging from his saddle-bow, and his buff-coat and breast-plate were flecked with dust, while his steaming and foam-covered steed showed that he had not spared the spur.

"The chief magistrate of the town of Newport?" he demanded curtly.

"I am he, worthy sir," replied the mayor, all bravado having, for the moment, left him.

Without speaking, the messenger put on his steel cap, drew his sword, and saluted the startled mayor; then, returning the weapon to its scabbard with military smartness, he handed him