On a summer day like this anyone listening at the Hall could hear the busy noises, the hum of this little hive of humanity, with perfect clearness; the beat of the hammer on the anvil in Matthew Hale's smithy, the "Gee, whoa!" of the carter on the distant road, the scrunching of the wagon-wheels, the crowing cocks, and now and then the shouts of boys and the laughter of children.

These audible tokens of active life were a comfort to Barbara.

A moment before, on parting with her father, she was aware of a new and disturbing loneliness, but now she felt no longer with the same melancholy that she was solitary, apart from her fellows.
It was the time when the country was divided between the followers of the Throne and the followers of Cromwell; the time when sour visages, who were for the moment in the places of authority, glowered beneath black hats, and the village games were forbidden; the time when Royalist gentlemen dropped a crumb into their wineglasses after dinner, and, looking meaningly at each other, tossed off the red liquor, saying fervently as they did so, "God send this CRUMB WELL down." But actual fighting was over, and the country on the surface peaceable again, although a word often was sufficient to draw forth steel among the high folks or set an inn full of villagers to fisticuffs.

There was not a Royalist in the country but awaited the moment when he could strike another blow to avenge his dead master and reinstate his young Prince.
Among these loyal gentlemen Colonel Myddelton was not the least.
Colonel Myddelton was a widower, and Barbara, young though she was, had long acted as the mistress of the household.

Yet, in spite of her good sense and caution, Barbara had been the obstacle to the Colonel's departure.