rk-coloured clothes, and more in the
French than in the English costume of that day, with a curious sort
of cravat of red silk tied in a bow beneath the chin. He wore his
hat, which was trimmed with feathers, and a large red bow of ribands,
and in his hand he bore nothing but a small cane with an amber head,
while his person displayed no arms whatever, except a small riding
sword, which every gentleman wore in that day.
His figure was tall and commanding; his countenance open, noble, but
somewhat stern; and there was to be remarked therein the peculiar
expression which the pictures of Vandyke have handed down to us in
the portraits of Charles I. It was a melancholy expression; but in
Charles that melancholy seemed somewhat mingled with weakness; while
on the stern brow and tightly-compressed lips of the young stranger,
might be read, by the physiognomist, vigour and determination almost
approaching to obstinacy.
The same, perhaps, might have been said of him which was said by the
Roman sculptor when he beheld the picture of Charles, "That man will
not die a natural death;" and in this instance, also, the prophecy
would have been correct. But there was something that might have
spoken, too, of death upon the battle-field, or in the deadly breach,
or in some enterprise where daring courage needed to be supported by
unshrinking pertinacity and resolution.
The sound of the pistol-shot fixed all eyes, for an instant, upon
that particular point in the room towards which it had been fired;
but the moment that the conspirators beheld the person who now stood
amongst them, they instantly drew back in a circle. Every sword was
thrust into its sheath, every hat was taken off, while, with a
flashing eye and frowning brow, the young stranger turned to Sir
George Barkley, exclaiming, "What is all this, sir? What is this,
gentlemen? Are ye madmen? or fools? or villains?"
"Those are hard words, your grace," replied Sir George Barkley, "and
hard to stomach."
"Not more than those persons deserve, sir," replied the stranger,
"who betray the confidence of their King, when they know that he is
powerless to punish them."
"We are serving our King, my lord duke," replied Sir John Fenwick,
"and not betraying his confidence. Are we not here in arms, my Lord
of Berwick, perilling our lives, prepared for any enterprise, and all
on the King's behalf?"
"I say again, sir," replied the Duke of Berwick, "that those who
abuse the trust reposed in them, so as to ruin their monarch'