CHAPTER LIII.
ROGER'S TRIUMPH.
The steeples rang out merrily, full chime; High street was gay with streamers; the town-band busily assembling; a host of happy urchins from emancipated schools, were shouting in all manner of keys all manner of gleeful noises: every body seemed a-stir.
A proud man that day was Roger Acton; not of his deserts--they were worse than none, he knew it; not of the procession--no silly child was he, to be caught with toy and tinsel; God wot, he was meek enough in self--and as for other pride, he knew from old electioneerings, what a humbling thing is triumph.
But when he saw from the windows of the Swan, those crowds of new-made friends trooping up in holiday suits with flags, and wands, and corporation badges--when the band for a commencement struck up the heart-stirring hymn 'God save the Queen,'-- when the horsemen, and carriages, and gigs, and carts assembled--when the baronet's own barouche and four, dashing up to the door, had come from Hurstley Hall for _him_--when Sir John, the happiest of the happy, alighting with his two friends, had displaced them for Roger and Grace, while the kind gentlemen took horse, and headed the procession--when Ben Burke (as clean as soap could get him, and bedecked in new attire) was ordered to sit beside Jonathan in the rumble-tumble--when the cheering, and the merry-going bells, and the quick-march 'British Grenadiers,' rapidly succeeding the national anthem--when all these tokens of a generous sympathy smote upon his ears, his eyes, his heart, Roger Acton wept aloud--he wept for very pride and joy: proud and glad was he that day of his country, of his countrymen, of his generous landlord, of his gentle Grace, of his vindicated innocence, and of God, "who had done so great things for him." So, the happy cavalcade moved on, horse and foot, and carts and carriages, through the noisy town, along the thronged high road, down the quiet lanes that lead to Hurstley; welcomed at every cottage-door with boisterous huzzas, and adding to its ranks at every corner.

And so they reached the village, where the band struck up, "See the conquering hero comes, Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!" Is not this returning like a nabob, Roger?
Hath not God blest thee through the crock of gold at last, in spite of sin?
There, at the entrance by the mile-stone, stood Mary and the babes, with a knot of friends around her, bright with happiness; on the top of it was perched son Tom, waving the blue and silver flag of Hurstley, and acting as fugleman to a crowd of uproarious cheerers; and beside it, on the bank, sat Sarah Stack, overcome with joy, and sobbing like a gladsome Niobe.
And the village bells went merrily; every cottage was gay with spring garlands, and each familiar face lit up with looks of kindness; Hark! hark!--"Welcome, honest Roger, welcome home again!" they shout: and the patereroes on the lawn thunder a salute; "welcome, honest neighbour;"-- and up went, at bright noon, Tom Stableboy's dozen of rockets wrapped around with streamers of glazed calico--"welcome, welcome!" Good Mr.Evans stood at the door of fine old Hurstley, in wig, and band, and cassock, to receive back his wandering sheep that had been lost: and the school-children, ranged upon the steps, thrillingly sang out the beautiful chant, "I will arise, and go to my Father, and will say unto Him, 'Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before Thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son!'" Every head was uncovered, and every cheek ran down with tears..