lm should be disturbed.

The feeling might not be patriotic, but it was natural, and Paul
admitted with a sigh that the cause of the Red Rose was not likely
to find favour here. A king who could fight and who could govern,
and hold his kingdom against all comers, was more thought of than
one who appeared a mere puppet in the hands of a designing noble or
a strong-willed queen. The sudden desertion of Warwick from his
banner had caused a momentary panic in Edward's army, and the king
had fled with his followers beyond the sea; but, as the hardy smith
remarked with a grim smile, he would not be long in coming back to
claim his kingdom. And if the country were again to be plunged into
the horrors of civil war, it would be better for the whole brood of
Lancaster to seek exile or death.

Paul had not energy to argue for his cause, and fell asleep with
these sinister words ringing in his ears.

Chapter 2: A Hospitable Shelter.

Figeon's Farm (the true spelling of the name should be Fitz-John's,
but nobody ever thought of calling it so) was a prosperous and
pleasant place enough. It had been in the hands of Devenishes ever
since the Norman conquest--so at least the common belief went--and
there was no tradition of the house or lands having been in other
hands than those of the present family.

When Paul Stukely awoke from the deep sleep of exhaustion into
which he had fallen even while the worthy smith had been talking to
him overnight, his ears were assailed by the peaceful and
comfortable sounds inseparable from farmhouse life and occupation.
He heard the cackling of hens, the grunting of pigs, and the rough
voices of the hinds as they got the horses out of the sheds, and
prepared to commence the labours of the day with harrow or plough.
These sounds were familiar enough to Paul; they seemed to carry him
back to the days of his childhood, and he lay for several minutes
in a state between sleeping and waking, dreamily wondering if the
strange events of the past year were all a dream, and if he should
wake by-and-by to find himself a child once more, in his little bed
in the old home, and receive his mother's kiss as his morning's
greeting.

But soon this sweet illusion faded, and the young man sat up in bed
and looked quickly round him, trying to recollect where he was and
what had brought him here. During the last two years, in which he
had been forced to lead the roving life of an adventurer--common
enough in