ELLEN NEVILLE. 163 
her as if with a heavy and complaining sound. She 
turned round to take a farewell look, just as the sink¬ 
ing sun flashed redly upon the carven escutcheon of 
her ancestors which surmounted the gates. Phoebe 
stooped down to pick up one of the Snowdrops which 
her beautiful mistress had unconsciously dropped, and, 
presenting her with it, said, “Take heart, my dear 
lady; this flower is the emblem of Hope, and some¬ 
thing tells me that you will yet live to see happier 
days.” The Lady Ellen took the proffered flower, 
smiling faintly through her tears as she thanked her 
attendant, and they then threaded their way in the 
direction of the thatched grange, in which the honest 
farmer’s wife lived who had nursed her in her infancy. 
Although General Marchmont had risen to such 
eminence in the parliamentary army, it was neither 
by adhering to the strict Puritanic habits of the Round- 
heads, nor rendering himself a tool in the hands of 
Cromwell, or a time-server to any of his emissaries; 
for he was one of those who drew the sword through 
conscientious motives against King Charles, and his 
own bravery had called forth the thanks of parliament, 
and his praises had been recorded before the face of 
the whole army. The mansion which he inherited 
