His warm heart yearned towards his house; the very chair on which he sat, the stool on which rested his crippled legs, were objects of an affection which he had before felt, but never till now acknowledged.
Every object on which his eye rested gave him a new pang; every article within his reach was a dear friend, whom he had long loved, and was now to leave for ever.
Still he did not utter one word of complaint; he did not once murmur at his fate; he never reminded his son that he had, by his impetuosity, hurried on his old father to destruction.

He never repined at the sacrifice he had made--I will not say for his King, for King at present he had none; the throne had been laid low, and the precious blood of him who should have filled it had been shed.

No; his sacrifices had been to an abstract feeling of loyalty, which made fealty to the Crown, whether worn or in abeyance, only second in his bosom to obedience to his God.
The day faded away, and they still sat together in the room in which they had dined, each wrapped in his own thoughts, till the darkness of night was upon them, and still no one felt inclined to rise and ask for candles.
After a long pause, Arthur made a bold attempt to break through the heaviness of the evening.

"We are not so badly off, at any rate," said he, "as we were on that night when Santerre and his men were here; are we, Agatha ?" "We are not badly off at all," said Henri.

"We have now what we never had before--a fine army collected together in one spot, a promise of succour from faithful England, and a strong probability of ultimate success.