ide of the great Empress
Maria Theresa, and against the young King of Prussia, who was dubbed
an infidel; and then later on we were fighting against the Empress--it
is true she was a Papist--and King Frederic was in all men's mouths
as the Protestant hero: I remember myself seeing his portrait painted
up on the sign-board of the inn at Blundell. However, we were always
against the French, whatever happened.

But, as it turned out, all this had no concern with my cousin. I
cannot tell how glad I was to see him back again, and I think he was
not ill-pleased at seeing me.

"Hallo, is that young Athelstane!" he called out as soon as he was
near enough. "Come on with me, cousin, and help me to put up my horse.
I have ridden out from Yarmouth, and I mean to sleep here to-night."

He sounded his words in the mincing, London fashion, which was then
beginning to spread among the better class in Norfolk; but I cannot
imitate his speech, and so write it down as if it were plain English.

Quick as my feet could carry me I ran forward in front of the horse,
and was there with the gate of the yard open before my cousin came up.

My father turned out of doors at the clatter, and looked not over
pleased when he caught sight of Rupert's dark face. However, he was a
man who would never shut the door against his own blood, and he gave
him some sort of a friendly greeting.

"Well, Nephew Rupert, how long have you been back in England?" he
asked him, as soon as the horse had been taken in and given its feed.

"It is scarce a month since I landed," my cousin answered; "but being
in Yarmouth, and you so near, I could not forbear riding over to spend
a night with you."

By this time we were come into the house, and my mother was in the
hall to welcome him, which she did with great kindness; for though he
was not of her kin, I believe she loved him better than my father did.
But that is saying little, for who was there about her that she did
not love? Even those who held aloof from my father as a stubborn
Independent had a kindness for my mother, who seemed to understand
nought of differences in religion, except between Christian and
heathen.

My father was of a different stamp. It was his boast that he was
related to the family of the famous John Bradshaw, the judge who
pronounced sentence on King Charles I, and whose house stands on
Yarmouth quay to this day. My father has many a time pointed it out to
me, and told me of the secret