It was natural, perhaps, that men like
Wildman and Danvers should believe that such an invasion would force the
hands of all those who clung to the Protestant faith, but the body to
which Crosby belonged looked to the Prince of Orange as leader should
open rebellion become necessary; they might be at one with the
West-Country peasantry in religion, but they were not likely to help the
son of Lucy Walters to his father's throne. Gilbert Crosby was prepared
to be his friend, but he was not prepared to be his subject.
He had retired to his room and locked the door. He was to start early in
the morning, and had taken leave of Monmouth, who had striven to appear
in high spirits during supper. His forced gaiety had not deceived
Crosby, whose heart was heavy as he paced the room thoughtfully for a
time. Disaster was in the air, and Monmouth was but the shuttlecock of
unscrupulous men.
"I wish I could help him," he sighed, and then he drew from his neck a
white ribbon. The ends were knotted together so that he could suspend it
round his neck under his clothing, and it had rested there day and night
ever since he had picked it up.
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