Numbers of persons were traversing the street below, many of
them going out through the bars, fifty yards away, into the fields
beyond, where some sports were being held that morning, while country
people were coming in with their baskets from the villages of
Highgate and Hampstead, Tyburn and Bayswater. But the lad noted
nothing that was going on; his eyes were filled with tears, and his
thoughts were in the little room behind him; for here, coffined in
readiness for burial, lay the body of his father.
Sir Aubrey Shenstone had not been a good father in any sense of the
word. He had not been harsh or cruel, but he had altogether neglected
his son. Beyond the virtues of loyalty and courage, he possessed few
others. He had fought, as a young man, for Charles, and even among
the Cavaliers who rode behind Prince Rupert was noted for reckless
bravery. When, on the fatal field of Worcester, the last hopes of the
Royalists were crushed, he had effected his escape to France and
taken up his abode at Dunkirk. His estates had been forfeited; and
after spending the proceeds of his wife's jewels and those he had
carried about with him in case fortune went against the cause for
which he fought, he sank lower and lower, and had for years lived on
the scanty pension allowed by Louis to the King and his adherents.
Sir Aubrey had been one of the wild, reckless spirits whose conduct
did much towards setting the people of England against the cause of
Charles.
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