reverend
chronicler that she was 'low of stature, dark-browed, and swarthy in
complexion,' though he gallantly adds that she was 'doubtless pleasing
to the eyes of those who loved such southern beauty.' At the wedding
it appears that Lady Mabel was present; and 'my good master's attire
and ornaments,' consisting of 'peach-coloured doublet, and
pearl-silken hose, and many gems of unspeakable price, dazzling to the
sight of humble men,' are detailed with strange minuteness and
fidelity. Even the plume in his hat and the jewelled hilt of his
rapier are dwelt upon at considerable length. But notwithstanding his
magnificence, the worthy chaplain did not fail to remark that 'my good
master seemed ill at ease, and the vertigo seizing him during the
ceremony, he must have fallen had I not caught him something cunningly
under the arm-pits, assisted by worthy Master Holder and one of the
groomsmen.' The chaplain, who seems to have been as blind as became
his reverend character, cannot forbear from expressing his admiration
of the Lady Mabel, whom he describes as 'fair and comely in colour,
like the bloom of the spring rose; of a buxom stature, and of a lofty
gait and gestures withal.' What was she doing at Sir Montague's
wedding? No wonder the old attack of 'vertigo,' which her elderflower
wine seems rather to have increased, should have come on again.

"One thing is pretty clear, the Baronet detested his wife (the
Scapegraces have generally owned that amiable weakness, my dear). I
think it must have been in consequence of her religion that he became
so strenuous a supporter of the opposite faith. At last he joined
Monmouth, and still the correspondence seems to have gone on, for the
night before Sedgmoor he wrote her a letter. Such a letter, Kate! I
was lucky enough to get it from a descendant of the lady, who was
under great obligations to me; I'll show it you to-morrow. No man with
_that mouth_ could have written such a letter, except when death was
looking him in the face. I often think when she got it she must have
given way at last. But it was too late. He was killed in the first
charge made by the royal troops. His own regiment, raw recruits and
countrymen, turned at the first shot; but he died like a Scapegrace,
waving his hat and cheering them on. We are rather proud of him in the
family, after all. Compared with the rest of them, his was a harmless
life and a creditable end."

"But what became of Lady Mabel?" I asked;