"Then he married, I can't quite make out why, as there is a considerable gap in the correspondence of the family about this time, only partially connected by the diary of an old chaplain, who seems to have been formerly tutor to Sir Montague, and to have cherished a great regard for his pupil. The lady was a foreigner and a Romanist; and although we have no picture of her, we gather from the reverend chronicler that she was 'low of stature, dark-browed, and swarthy in complexion,' though he gallantly adds that she was 'doubtless pleasing to the eyes of those who loved such southern beauty.' At the wedding it appears that Lady Mabel was present; and 'my good master's attire and ornaments,' consisting of 'peach-coloured doublet, and pearl-silken hose, and many gems of unspeakable price, dazzling to the sight of humble men,' are detailed with strange minuteness and fidelity. Even the plume in his hat and the jewelled hilt of his rapier are dwelt upon at considerable length. But notwithstanding his magnificence, the worthy chaplain did not fail to remark that 'my good master seemed ill at ease, and the vertigo seizing him during the ceremony, he must have fallen had I not caught him something cunningly under the arm-pits, assisted by worthy Master Holder and one of the groomsmen.' The chaplain, who seems to have been as blind as became his reverend character, cannot forbear from expressing his admiration of the Lady Mabel, whom he describes as 'fair and comely in colour, like the bloom of the spring rose; of a buxom stature, and of a lofty gait and gestures withal.' What was she doing at Sir Montague's wedding? No wonder the old attack of 'vertigo,' which her elderflower wine seems rather to have increased, should have come on again.
"One thing is pretty clear, the Baronet detested his wife (the Scapegraces have generally owned that amiable weakness, my dear). I think it must have been in consequence of her religion that he became so strenuous a supporter of the opposite faith. At last he joined Monmouth, and still the correspondence seems to have gone on, for the night before Sedgmoor he wrote her a letter. Such a letter, Kate! I was lucky enough to get it from a descendant of the lady, who was under great obligations to me; I'll show it you to-morrow. No man with _that mouth_ could have written such a letter, except when death was looking him in the face. I often think when she got it she must have given way at last. But it was too late. He was killed in the first charge made by the royal troops. His own regiment, raw recruits and countrymen, turned at the first shot; but he died like a Scapegrace, waving his hat and cheering them on. We are rather proud of him in the family, after all. Compared with the rest of them, his was a harmless life and a creditable end."
