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Updated: June 19, 2025
Woodford than to any one else; but there seemed to be a reckless bitterness about him on that night, and he said, "I marvel with what face those same Eight Reverend Seigniors will preach against the French King." "Sir," thrust in Sedley Archfield, "I am not to hear opprobrious epithets applied to the Bishops."
She had all along had to bear up the spirits of Sir Philip and Lady Archfield, and though she had struggled for composure, the finding that she had in him a comforter and support set the pent-up tears flowing fast, as he held her close. "Oh, I did not mean to vex you thus!" she said. "Vex! no indeed! 'Tis something to be wept for. But cheer up, Anne mine.
She gave a shriek, in a wild hope of parting them, but at that instant she saw Peregrine fall, and with the impulse of rushing to aid she hurried down, impeded however by stumbles, and by the doors, she herself had shut, and when she emerged, she saw only Charles, standing like one dazed and white as death. "O Mr Archfield! where is he? What have you done?"
The Archfield family still took a house in the Close for the winter months, and there a very sober-minded and conventional courtship of Lucy took place by Sir Edmund Nutley, a worthy and well-to-do gentleman settled on the borders of Parkhurst Forest, in the Isle of Wight. Anne, with the thought of her Charles burning within her heart, was a little scandalised at the course of affairs.
A few words passed, into which the judge inquired. "I am reminded, my Lord," said Colonel Archfield, bowing, "that I once incurred Mr. Holt's displeasure as a mischievous boy by throwing a stone which injured one of his poultry; but I cannot believe such a trifle would bias an honest man in a question of life and death." Nevertheless the judge put aside Mr. Holt.
There was a moment of breathless amazement in the court, and the judge was the first to speak. "Very extraordinary, sir! What is your name?" "Charles Archfield," said the clear resolute voice.
It was a cruel moment for all, when the words came from Mr. Fellowes, "Sir, I have to tell you, Mr. Archfield is not here. This letter, he tells me, is to explain." There was an outburst of exclamation, during which Sir Philip withdrew into a window with his spectacles to read the letter, while all to which the tutor or Anne ventured to commit themselves was that Mr.
"Charley says one such matter more or less makes no odds to the Whig ape; but I cannot endure Sedley Archfield, mamma." "If he lets another lad bear the blame of his malice he cannot indeed be a good lad." "So Charley and Lucy say," returned Anne.
Nay," as the action following the impulse, she was gathering up her work, "'tis an old abbe with him! no fear! Abbe? Nay, 'tis liker to an English clergyman! Can a banished one have strayed hither? The younger man is in mourning. Could it be? No graver, older, more manly Oh!" "Anne! Anne! We have found you!" "Mr. Archfield! You!"
The two struggling figures both lay still for a moment or two, but as some of the riders drew them apart Peregrine sat up, though blood was streaming down his breast and arm. "Sir," he said, "I am Peregrine Oakshott, on whose account young Archfield lies under sentence of death. If a magistrate will take my affidavit while I can make it, he will be safe."
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