was hateful in Puritan ears. 'Hew them down, root and branch!' was the
sentiment that actuated the soldiery. His very loveliness exasperated
their vengeance. At last, 'with nine wounds on his beautiful face and
body,' says Fairfax, 'he was slain.' 'The oak-tree,' writes the devoted
servant, 'is his monument,' and the letters of F. V. were cut in it in
his day. His body was conveyed by water to York House, and was entombed
with that of his father, in the Chapel of Henry VII.

His brother fled towards St. Neot's, where he encountered a strange kind
of peril. Tobias Rustat attended him; and was with him in the rising in
Kent for King Charles I., wherein the Duke was engaged; and they, being
put to the flight, the Duke's helmet, by a brush under a tree, was
turned upon his back, and tied so fast with a string under his throat,
'that without the present help of T. R.,' writes Fairfax, 'it had
undoubtedly choked him, as I have credibly heard.'[2]

Whilst at St. Neot's, the house in which Villiers had taken refuge was
surrounded with soldiers. He had a stout heart, and a dexterous hand; he
took his resolution; rushed out upon his foes, killed the officer in
command, galloped off and joined the Prince in the Downs.

The sad story of Charles I. was played out; but Villiers remained
stanch, and was permitted to return and to accompany Prince Charles into
Scotland. Then came the battle of Worcester in 1651: there Charles II.
showed himself a worthy descendant of James IV. of Scotland. He resolved
to conquer or die: with desperate gallantry the English Cavaliers and
the Scotch Highlanders seconded the monarch's valiant onslaught on
Cromwell's horse, and the invincible Life Guards were almost driven back
by the shock. But they were not seconded; Charles II. had his horse
twice shot under him, but, nothing daunted, he was the last to tear