Title: The oak staircase : A narrative of the times of James II
Author: Lee, C. (Catherine), Lee, M. (Mary)
Language: English
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[Frontispiece: 'I CRAVE YOUR MAJESTY'S PARDON WITH ALL MY HEART.'
Page 266.]



  THE

  OAK STAIRCASE

  _A Narrative of the Times of James II._


  BY

  M. AND C. LEE

  AUTHORS OF
  'JOACHIM'S SPECTACLES' 'ROSAMOND FANE' ETC.


  _ILLUSTRATED BY J. AYTON SYMINGTON_



  GRIFFITH FARRAN BROWNE & CO. LIMITED
  35 BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN
  LONDON



PREFACE.

In the following narrative we have made use of two entirely distinct
anecdotes: the history of the 'Maids of Taunton'--which is a
well-known episode in the record of the Duke of Monmouth's
Rebellion--and the romantic story of the marriage between Lord
Sunderland's daughter and the Earl of Clancarty.  But although these
incidents have in reality no connection with each other whatever, we
have ventured to combine the two, and found upon them the adventures
of the young Lord Desmond and Frances Dalrymple.

M. AND C. LEE.



CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.

A WET HALF-HOLIDAY


CHAPTER II.

LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY


CHAPTER III.

LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY (CONTINUED)


CHAPTER IV.

THE MAIDS OF TAUNTON


CHAPTER V.

BLUE-COAT'S STORY


CHAPTER VI.

THE MAID OF HONOUR'S STORY


CHAPTER VII.

UNCLE ALGERNON'S LAST STORY



THE OAK STAIRCASE.



CHAPTER I.

A WET HALF-HOLIDAY.

It was the opinion of Robin Dalrymple that Mangnall was a humbug.
Such, at least, was the fact that he announced, in tones both loud
and decided, as he closed a somewhat battered copy of that author's
works with a tremendous clap, and tossed it contemptuously on the
table.  Lessons were over in the schoolroom at Horsemandown; and Miss
Gregory, at the writing-table in her own peculiar corner, was doing
her best to be deaf for a few moments to her pupils' clamour, while
she tried to finish a letter in time for the post.  Now the
Horsemandown schoolroom was hardly the place one would choose for the
purpose of writing a letter at any time--much less at four o'clock in
the afternoon, when the operation of 'clearing away' was taking
place.  Fortunately, however, Miss Gregory was used to it; and her
pen continued to scratch away valiantly, in spite of the opening and
shutting of drawers, the tumbling of books or slates on the floor,
the heavy bang of the piano lid, and the uproar of shrill voices that
almost drowned the rest of the clatter around her.  'Yes,' repeated
Robin, taking up a perilous position on the table between two
inkstands: 'Mangnall is a humbug!  Silvia, don't you agree with me?'

But Silvia was busily engaged with a sponge and a gallipot of water,
generally known in the family as 'the schoolroom jam-pot;' and as she
never could answer when appealed to suddenly, she was obliged to
pause in her occupation of washing the slates, and lean both elbows
on the table in order to meditate.  Whereupon Sydney burst in:
'Humbug, of course!  All lessons are humbug, except perhaps
geography.  That's the only one that has something like sense in it.'

Robin raised his eyebrows incredulously.  'Sense in geography!  Why,
Syd, if there is a thing that's utterly abominable and senseless,
that's it.  To have to remember what's the capital of what, and where
rivers "take their source," and to find out the latitude and
longitude of wretched places where one never goes, and never wants to
go!'

'But that is the very thing,' said Sydney.  'I do want to go there;
and, what is more, I mean to go some day when I'm a sailor, and sail
round the world.  I want to go to China and India and South
America--Egypt, of course (not Europe.  I don't care for stupid,
civilised places).'

'Oh Syd!' interrupted Silvia's deliberate little voice.  'Not care to
see Edinburgh or Rome!  Think of Horatius.  Don't you care to see
places where things happened long ago, or where celebrated people
used to live?  I did so like going over the Tower last year, and
seeing where the poor little princes were murdered, and where Sir
Walter Raleigh was imprisoned, and putting my hand on the very same
stone that perhaps his had been on.'

'But _why_?' asked Sydney.  'It makes no difference.  The stone looks
just the same, whether he touched it or not.'

Silvia could not tell why.  She could only knit her brows, and repeat
in a meditative tone her favourite phrase, 'Somehow--I don't know,'
till Sydney grew tired of waiting for an answer, and began again.

'Well, all that I can say is, that I don't care a farthing for the
Tower of London, or Horatius, or Sir Walter Raleigh, or any of those
people.  I never can remember which is which, or what they did.  I
want to travel, and discover new countries, and fight wild beasts and
savages, and see all sorts of extraordinary plants and animals, and
forests full of poisonous snakes and fire-flies, and tremendously big
ferns, and humming-birds, and get into all sorts of dangers, and go
where no one has ever been before.  Oh, that would be glorious!'

'Somehow,' began Silvia, rousing herself from a reverie, and going on
rather languidly with her slate-cleaning duties--'I don't
know--(well, you needn't laugh whenever I open my mouth, Sydney).  I
mean to say, I should like to have the "goloshes of fortune."'

'What!  Like the people in Robin's fairy-book?' said little Dolly.

'Yes: who always got whatever they wished for, directly they put the
goloshes on.  I should like to jump back into the Middle Ages, like
the old Professor.'

'But you know, Silvia,' Robin remarked, with a very sagacious look in
his round brown eyes: 'you know how much the Professor hated the
Middle Ages when he got into them.'

'That,' rejoined Silvia, 'was because he managed so badly.  He didn't
know he was in the Middle Ages at all.  I should know where I was,
and not be surprised at everything looking different and odd.  I
should keep wishing myself first in one century and then in another,
I think----'

'Yes.  And only imagine,' said Sydney, 'how Queen Elizabeth would
open her eyes when you told her about railways, and the penny post,
and balloons, and photographs, and velocipedes!'

'Oh, Syd, I wish you wouldn't!  As if I should tell her anything
about those stupid things!  Of course I shouldn't talk about what
wasn't invented--then-a-days,' finished Silvia, after pausing in vain
for a suitable expression.

'Well, do you know,' announced Robin, putting his hands in his
pockets, and nodding his head emphatically, 'I think the "goloshes of
fortune" would be awfully wasted on you two.  Such stupid things to
wish!  I know what would be much jollier than journeying back into
the Middle Ages among all those ridiculous people in Mangnall; or
going to places where one never can find their latitude or longitude.'

'My dear Robin,' cried Christie, 'your grammar is getting perfectly
wild.'

'Pooh!  Bother grammar.  Because Christie happens to be twelve, she
is always setting-up to be as clever as Miss Gregory.  As if one
could worry one's self about grammar out of school hours.  Now,
Silvia, I'll tell you where I'd go if I had those goloshes: I'd go
right into fairy-land, and see all the people in the _Arabian Nights_
and the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and Hans Andersen's stories.  They
would be much better worth seeing than your Sir Walter Raleighs and
Horatiuses and Syd's savages.  I shouldn't care to see real people;
they would put me so in mind of Mangnall.'

'I don't much like Mangnall,' Silvia confessed.  'But I tell you
what: it would be rather nice to be put into it one's self when one
is grown up.  I mean to write books some day; and then, perhaps, I
might be put into the _British Biographies_!'

'Oh Silvia, and have a portrait like this!' cried Robin, opening the
ill-used book at a page where Miss Mitford was depicted in company
with other worthies, whose heads had been adorned by Sydney with
cocked hats, and whose eyes had been altered by Robin to a size and
blackness appalling to behold.

'Come, boys,' said Christie, after there had been a general laugh at
Silvia's ambition, 'make haste and finish putting away, and then
we'll go and have some fun in the long garret.'

This suggestion cleared the room very speedily; for the long garret
was much esteemed by the young Dalrymples, on a wet afternoon like
the present, as a capital substitute for the garden or the park.
Here they had a long and exciting game of hide-and-seek; and it was
not till the autumn afternoon was near its close, and twilight was
gradually creeping on and filling the corners of the garret with
gloom, that Silvia, the least active of the party, and tired of the
sport, stole away by herself to one of her favourite haunts.  This
was the top step of the fine old oak staircase, which formed one of
the chief beauties of the house of Horsemandown.  From there she
could peep through the carved, twisted bannisters, and watch whatever
went on in the hall below.  Sometimes it was Sir Bernard Dalrymple's
brown setter and Robin's little rough terrier romping on the mat by
the hall door which engaged her attention; sometimes it was her
mother watering the flowers, that seemed to bloom perpetually in the
sunny hall window; and sometimes it was Sydney and Christie having
one of their most exciting games of battledore, which were really
worth looking at, so well did they both play.

When these amusements failed, and the hall was deserted, as was the
case at present, Silvia found plenty of companions in the pictures,
which covered the walls around her.  Beyond the fact that they were
most of them portraits of her own ancestors, she knew very little
about them.  But that did not matter, for she used to find names for
them all out of whatever book she was reading.  These names generally
had nothing to do with their style of dress, which Silvia considered
a matter of no consequence: she only cared for some imaginary
likeness of feature or expression.  Thus, a tall, thin, dark-eyed
gentleman with a Vandyke beard had been christened by turns 'Hamlet,'
'Prince Giglio,' or 'Osmond de Centeville,' according to whether
Silvia was absorbed in Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_, _The Rose and
the Ring_, or _The Little Duke_; while a severe-looking dame, with
powdered hair and an unmistakable hoop, did duty with equal
faithfulness for 'The Lady of Branksome Tower,' or the Witch Aunt in
_Mrs Leicester's School_.

On the present occasion Silvia was not left long in undisturbed
possession of her favourite nook, for on the dispersion of the
garret-party she was joined by Robin; who, after remarking with a
yawn that prisoners'-base indoors was decidedly slow, tried to get
rid of his superfluous energy by sliding down the bannisters to the
bottom of the staircase.  Silvia felt obliged to put down her book,
and watch him as he climbed slowly up again outside the railing, and
felt much relieved when he appeared at the top.

'What book are you poring over now?' he inquired with some contempt,
peeping over his sister's shoulder.  'History!  Oh Silvia, how can
you--in play-time?'

'It's not history; it's a story,' said Silvia indignantly; 'at least
it is just like a story.  And it is so interesting.'

'But it's all true?' said Robin, with a face of great disgust.

'Well, it is just as nice as if it wasn't,' replied his sister.  'And
besides, I think I rather like books to be true, or, at any rate, to
think that they might be true.  I can't think why you hate all the
people in history so, Robin!'

'I don't hate them all,' said Robin, after pondering the subject with
a very grave face.  'I like them when they do something uncommonly
jolly; and, besides, there certainly are some that I want to know
about very much indeed.  One's own relations, I mean.  I know they
are in history books--that is, some of them: relations who lived a
long time ago.  What do you call them?'

'Ancestors do you mean?' said Silvia.  'I want to know about them
too; for Uncle Algernon once told me that there were some very
curious stories about the pictures in this house, especially those on
the staircase.'

'Did he?' said Robin.  'Then that's what papa meant when I asked who
that boy was.'  (Robin pointed, as he spoke, to a picture that hung
on the wall opposite.)  'He said I must ask Uncle Algernon, for he
was a namesake of his, and knew all about him.  I always call him
"Bluecoat," and I want to know about him more than any of them.'

Silvia surveyed the picture in question with a great deal of
interest.  It represented a boy of about Robin's age, with dark,
bright eyes, handsome features and chestnut curls, which hung down as
low as the rich lace scarf which was tied round his neck.  He wore
lace ruffles at his wrists, and the blue velvet coat which had earned
him Robin's nickname was adorned with the most elaborate embroidery.

'I wonder when he lived,' said Silvia thoughtfully.  'But, Robin, I
should like to know still better about that little girl next him.  Do
you think she is his sister?'

'They are not a bit alike,' pronounced her brother.  'Oh Silvia,
she's got regular green sleeves, don't you see, like that old woman
in _Granny's Wonderful Chair_?'

'Yes; I found that out long ago.  I always call her "Lady
Greensleeves,"' replied Silvia.

'She is very pretty, I think, in spite of that funny dress.  But she
looks very proud and dignified.'

'I suppose she was some grand lady.  How she stares at one!' added
Silvia, hastily turning her eyes away, but only to meet the gaze of
other generations of Dalrymples, who frowned or smiled on her in all
directions.  'It is very odd that they should look at one so hard,
isn't it?' she said in a half-whisper to Robin.  'I always notice it,
especially when I am coming up to bed.'

'Yes,' replied her brother, 'It was Bluecoat staring at me so, that
first made me notice him; and now I don't mind it a bit, but always
nod to him and say good-night when I come up-stairs.  I wish I knew
all about him.  Now, if we had but the goloshes of fortune, Silvia,
what fun it would be!  We would make all the pictures tell us their
stories.'

'How would it be if I was to ask them?' said a voice just above the
children.

Silvia started and looked round.  Some one was leaning over the
balustrade in the passage behind them.

'Why, Uncle Algernon!' exclaimed Robin after a pause of surprise;
'you haven't heard all we have been saying?'

'Well, I don't know about _all_,' said Uncle Algernon, laughing; 'but
I heard about Bluecoat and Lady Greensleeves and the goloshes of
fortune.  So you want the portraits to tell you their stories, do
you, Silvia?'

'Oh Uncle Algernon, do you think us very silly?  But papa says you
know their stories.  Do you really?  And how did you find them out?'

'How do you know that I haven't a pair of those goloshes hidden away
in that cupboard in my dressing-room?'

'I _wish_ you had!' sighed Silvia, looking wistfully at Lady
Greensleeves' mischievous brown eyes and rosy smiling mouth.

'Well, but if you do know the stories, why shouldn't you tell them to
us?' suggested Robin.  'It would be almost as jolly as if the
pictures were to speak themselves; wouldn't it, Silvia?'

'Not _quite_, I think,' Silvia said, with a doubtful glance at Uncle
Algernon.  'You see, it would be so nice to hear all that they used
to think, and how Horsemandown looked in those days,--all in their
own words, you know, Robin.'

'Ah, but then they would talk in an old way, like the people in
history books,--"hath," and "natheless," and "by my halidome."  I
can't bear coming to those kind of words in Mrs. Markham.'

'Well, Silvia, what do you say to this?' said Uncle Algernon after a
moment's silence, during which he had seated himself between his
nephew and niece on the broad step.  'Lady Greensleeves and I are
very old friends.  I am going to take down her portrait to-night and
clean it in my dressing-room.  Now, suppose I were to ask her, as a
very particular favour, to tell her story to you and Robin in her own
words.'

'Oh uncle!' cried both children at once; 'how delightful!  Will you
really?  But what do you mean?  How can she, in her own words?'

'Never mind,' quoth Uncle Algernon, nodding significantly.  'As I
said before, she is a very old friend of mine, and I have a strong
persuasion that she won't refuse me this; besides, you forget the
goloshes of fortune.  Nothing can be refused to one, you know, when
one has those goloshes on.'

'But, uncle, how can you make her tell it us?'

'Never mind,' said Uncle Algernon again, 'you will see all in good
time.  Only come to my dressing-room to-morrow when lessons are
finished,--you and Robin, nobody else,--and I'll tell you what comes
of my interview with her ladyship.'

The dinner-bell rang at this moment, whereupon Uncle Algernon jumped
up and beat a hasty retreat into the said dressing-room.

'How does he mean to do it?' asked Silvia, after pondering for a
whole minute without speaking.

'I don't know, I can't think, unless he means to write a story about
her.  You know he does write books; so perhaps----'

But at this juncture the discussion came to an end, for the lamp
blazed up in the hall below, and Christie came rushing along the
gallery, crying, 'Silvia, Robin, have you really been sitting here in
the dark all this time?  Why, the tea-bell rang a quarter of an hour
ago.  There are muffins; and Sydney is eating all the blackberry jam!'

The next morning Lady Greensleeves had disappeared from the
staircase.  Uncle Algernon had a passion for cleaning oil-paintings,
and one or other of the family portraits was always to be found in
his room whenever he came to stay at Horsemandown.

Not a moment was lost by Robin and Silvia when four o'clock struck
that afternoon, and lessons were over, in rushing to the bright,
pleasant room which was always called Uncle Algernon's dressing-room,
and held sacred to him, even when he was away on his travels on the
other side of the world.

There he sat in the midst of his books and drawings, and cases of
stuffed birds and curiosities, brought from all parts of the globe.
He was in a big arm-chair on one side of the fire-place, and the sofa
was drawn up on the other.  The portrait of Lady Greensleeves was in
the room too, looking much fresher and brighter than she had done
ever since the children could remember.

'Well, Silvia, here we are, you see, both at your service,' said
Uncle Algernon as they entered.  'Make yourselves comfortable on the
sofa; only, first allow me to introduce you to her ladyship, Frances
Countess of Desmond, the wife of your old friend Bluecoat; or rather,
to give him his proper name and title, Algernon Carey Earl of
Desmond.'

'His wife!' ejaculated Robin, staring with a puzzled air, first at
Uncle Algernon, and then at Lady Greensleeves' picture.  'But she is
a little girl!'

'Oh, Robin,' said Silvia reproachfully, 'don't you know people used
to marry when they were children long ago?  Don't you remember about
Jeanne D'Albret?'

'Used they?' asked Robin vaguely.  'Oh well, I never remember about
people in history, so I daresay they did.  But, Uncle Algernon, I
thought Lady Greensleeves was an ancestor of ours, and that her name
was Dalrymple?'

'So it was, before she married,' replied his uncle.  'But you shall
hear all about it if you will sit down and listen.  She has
graciously consented to your wish, that she should tell you her
history in her own words, but----'

'Oh, Uncle Algernon!  Not really.  I can't believe it.  What do you
mean?' cried Silvia, jumping upon her uncle's knee and putting both
hands on his shoulders, while she gazed into his eyes to see if he
were laughing or not.

'Are you in fun, Uncle Algernon?' said Robin, looking doubtfully from
his uncle to Lady Greensleeves.

'No, indeed I am quite in earnest.  Lady Greensleeves is going to
tell you her history, only through me; for, you see, she only
condescends to speak directly to a very old intimate friend like
myself; so she has dictated it to me, and I will tell it in her own
words exactly as she said it.'

'Oh, I understand!' exclaimed Robin, clapping his hands.  'It will be
an _I_ story, you know, Silvia--as if she had written it herself,
like Robinson Crusoe.'

'Exactly,' said Uncle Algernon, laughing.  'And at my special request
she has addressed it to you and Silvia, and has kindly consented to
bring in as little of "natheless" and "by my halidome" and "in good
sooth" as she can possibly help.'

'Oh, thank you, Uncle Algernon, how nice it will be!  Please go on.'

And with Silvia on his knee, and Robin on the sofa opposite, Uncle
Algernon began the story of Lady Greensleeves.



CHAPTER II.

LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY.

In the year 1674 (nearly two hundred years ago, my dears), I was born
in this house.  My name, as you now know, was not Lady Greensleeves
or Lady anything then, but plain Mistress Frances Dalrymple.  My
father, Sir Bernard, was the third baronet of our house.  You know
his portrait in the mulberry-coloured coat and fair periwig over the
dining-room chimney-piece; my mother's hangs opposite, just as it did
when I first remember it.  Well, as I said just now, I was born in
this house, and till I was ten years old I never left it for a single
night.  You know we could not rush about in my time as you do now: as
for going to the sea-side in the summer, such an idea never entered
our heads.  I suppose we were stronger than you modern people.  At
all events, doctors never ordered us change of air; and we did very
well without it.  Besides, we didn't care much about the sea in those
days.  I daresay you would hardly believe me if I told you that I
never even saw it till I was past twenty, and then the sight was
anything but pleasant to me.  But this was the fact, nevertheless;
and I do not think it ever occurred to any of us that we should like
to stay by the shore and build castles in the sand, and hunt for
shells and pebbles, as children do in these days.

'I was very happy here at Horsemandown running about with my three
brothers--playing with the dogs, and attending to our chickens, our
tame animals, our hawks, and goats, and rabbits.  Ah, those were
merry days!  (jolly, I suppose _you_ would say).  Such games of
hide-and-seek we used to have in the garden and park!  There were
about three times as many trees in the park in those days: one old
hollow oak there was, a splendid hiding-place, but in which nobody
ever thought of hiding, because it was always there that the seekers
first came to search.  Old Shad (Shadrach was his proper name), my
father's falconer, used to call it Merlin's Oak.  He knew an endless
stock of stories about King Arthur and his knights, and Merlin, and
all those people; and we used firmly to believe that King Arthur
lived at Horsemandown, and that the great table inlaid with brass in
my mother's grand withdrawing-room must have been the original
round-table.  As to Merlin, old Shad had not the smallest doubt that
he was charmed to sleep in our favourite oak, and we thought of
course that Shad knew all about it.  I remember little Roger, the
youngest of us all, asking Shad if he had ever been out hawking with
King Arthur.  Roger had very odd ideas about age.  He thought nobody
ever had been, or ever could be, older than Shad; and told Mrs.
Rebecca, my mother's tirewoman (I beg your pardon, lady's-maid), that
she was what he considered an elderly person.  If she had been
thirty-two instead of twenty-two, I don't think she would have
laughed till she cried, or have taken the pains to chase Roger round
the room for a kiss.  My brothers were all younger than myself.
Oliver came next to me.  Poor Oliver, how fond I was of him!  But so
indeed I was of Miles and Roger.  The same tutor taught us all; and
the only lesson that I had apart from them was needlework.  That hour
which I spent every morning, doing silk embroidery under my mother's
superintendence, was the time that I hated more than all the rest of
the day.  My mother was very skilful in this obnoxious embroidery,
and indeed in all kinds of work; but in other respects she was not an
accomplished woman.  So, as she and our tutor, Master Waynefleet,
were my only teachers till I was more than ten years old, I could
neither dance nor sing, nor play upon the harp, as a well-educated
young lady ought to have done.  I don't think my mother considered
these accomplishments necessary.  At all events, she did not take my
ignorance then much to heart.  My father would sometimes look at me
with a doubtful, critical sort of expression, and ask me an abrupt
question, generally about my studies; sometimes he would inquire what
I had been doing with myself all day, and my answers never seemed to
please him.  He would raise his eyebrows, and give a peculiar
whistle, or a short laugh, which always made me feel very
uncomfortable, and very much ashamed of myself, though I did not
exactly know why.  However, it was not very often that this happened,
for I saw very little of my father; and, to say the truth, this did
not much distress me.  Children in these days can have no idea how
dreadfully afraid of him I used to be; and yet I was by no means a
shy or timid child.  Rather the contrary.  I was not afraid of my
mother, nor of Master Nicholas Waynefleet; though I certainly never
dreamed of treating him in the familiar way that you would treat your
elders now-a-days.  Not that I should have been any better if I had
been born in this century.  Dear me, no!  I should probably have been
the most pert and disrespectful of you all; but when I try to imagine
myself romping with my father, and asking him questions, or answering
him, as you do your papa and mamma, it really makes me quite cold and
shaky.  Ah! even mamma, though I loved her with all my heart (and no
mother could be fonder of her daughter than she was of me), would
have been rather astonished if I had plunged into her arms and given
her one of those rough, unceremonious hugs and kisses that I so often
see inflicted on the present Lady Dalrymple of Horsemandown.  Why,
she always taught me to courtesy when I entered or left a room, even
if no one was there but herself; and I very seldom called her
anything but madam.  I daresay this seems frightfully cold and stiff
to you, but it was as natural to me as it is to you to address your
governess as "Miss Gregory," instead of using her Christian name.
Mamma and I were a good deal together.  I being the only girl, and
papa being very seldom at home, I was her only companion, and my time
was spent pretty equally between her and my brothers.  My father, as
I have said, was not often at Horsemandown.  Some part of the year he
was, of course, obliged to be in London to attend Parliament; but at
other times he would be constantly away from home.  He was a good
deal at the court; for my father was a great favourite of King
Charles II., and both he and my grandfather had been among those
gentlemen who were sent over to Holland to bring home the King at the
Restoration in 1660.  He never took my mother with him either to
London or to the court, and I do not think she had any more wish to
go than he had to take her.  His whole mind was wrapped up in
politics, and she took not the slightest interest in them; neither
did she care for the court and its gaieties.  She used to tell me
that she had had enough of court life when she first married, and
hoped that, if ever I did go to Whitehall, I might be as glad to
leave it as she had been.  All her interest now was in me and my
brothers, and in the affairs of the household and estate.  She was an
extremely brisk, active person, always busied about something.  I was
very proud of helping her in the garden, the still-room, and the
kitchen; for she always superintended the making of preserves,
pickles, and home-made wines, etc.  We used to go about the garden
together, cutting off the dead roses, gathering saffron, lavender,
and camomile flowers, and spreading them out to dry in the sunny
window-seats of the still-room,--into the dairy to watch the four
apple-cheeked dairy-maids churning away at the butter, and pressing
the cheese; and we used to attend to the poultry too; and to the
bees; and to walk to any cottage on the estate where a sick person
had been heard of, carrying sundry draughts, compounded by my
mother's own hand.  Well!  I always like to remember those days.  I
think they were the best, or if not _quite_ the best, at least they
were some of the happiest days of my life.  However, I daresay you
would rather hear about my unhappiest days.  That quiet, comfortable
kind of life that one really enjoys most one's self, is not half so
amusing to other people as one's misfortunes; but I am coming to a
more interesting part of my story now.  One morning (it was in
December 1684, when I was between ten and eleven years old) Oliver
and I were going out hunting with old Shad.  He had begun to teach us
to ride, almost before we could walk; and I must say I think we did
him great credit.  This was the first winter we had been ever allowed
to hunt.  Mamma had long given it up, though she was an excellent
horsewoman.  She had no time for it now, she said; but she never
minded trusting us to Shad's care.  And, after every gallop across
country, Oliver and I used to nearly tease the life out of the poor
old fellow till he promised to take us again.  It was a fresh wind
this morning, with some bursts of sunshine from time to time, as the
clouds flew across the sky.  Oliver and I would insist on racing one
another through the park, heedless of poor Shad, who jogged behind at
a sober pace, shouting to us imploringly not to tire the horses so
early in the day.  We were flying along in this way, both in mad
spirits, down a rough, winding lane that skirted the park, both bent
upon seeing who should first leap a little brook that crossed the
path, when suddenly what should appear running towards us but a rough
grey Irish staghound, the sight of which made Oliver exclaim, "Larry!
and my father!"  When his master went from home, Larry was seldom
left behind.  They both had been away for more than a month, staying
with Sir Harry Mountfort at New Court, and my father had sent us no
notice of his intended return.  Oliver, when he saw Larry followed by
two mounted figures advancing very carefully and deliberately over
the stones and ruts of the narrow lane, immediately turned and
trotted back to the side of the ill-used Shad, and I had a strong
inclination to do the same; but my little mare Hebe was going at a
pace somewhat too headlong to be checked in a moment, and I was over
the brook almost before I had time to think about it.  I had shot
right between the two horsemen before I could pull up, and was not
surprised to hear a loud exclamation of mingled wrath and
astonishment as I flew past.  A _very_ strong exclamation it
was,--not quite what your papa would like his little girl to hear;
but gentlemen in those times were not scrupulous as to their
language, even before their wives and daughters.  When at length I
managed to bring Mrs. Hebe to a standstill, my father had dismounted,
and striding up to me, took hold of the bridle and turned her head.
Not a word did he say to me till he had examined Hebe all over with
an anxious and critical eye; then, patting her glossy neck
soothingly, he turned his mind to me.  I suppose I looked in a
terrible fright.  I certainly felt as if my cheeks were crimson, and
my hands shook so that I dropped the reins.  My father put them into
my hand again with one of his sarcastic laughs, and then asked, less
angrily than I expected:

'"And now, Mistress Frances, where might you be going to in such a
hurry?"

'"We were going out with Mr. Atherley's hounds," I faltered out,
finding it very hard to keep from bursting into tears.

'"Oh, indeed!  Are you in the habit of following Mr. Atherley's
hounds all by yourself?"

'"No, sir; Shad is taking me and Oliver.  We have only been once
before."  And as I spoke, I saw, to my great relief, Shad and my
brother emerging from a bend in the lane.

'"And pray, what does Shad mean by letting you start at this
break-neck pace, and down this lane too,--full of holes like
fish-pools, and flints as sharp as the point of my rapier?  Out upon
him!  If you had thrown down Hebe!  That old fool Shad shall be taken
to account for this."

'In spite of the awe that I felt for my father, I could not sit
silently and hear dear old Shad abused, especially when I knew my
brother and I were alone to blame with regard to the "break-neck
pace."

'"Indeed, sir," I cried eagerly, "it was not Shad's fault at all.  He
called to us the whole way not to gallop; but we wouldn't stop,
because we wanted to run races."

'"Faith! but she's a spirited little damsel," said my father's
companion, laughing.  "Come, Dalrymple, as Hebe's knees, luckily, are
not broken, you must forgive her this time.  You won't have the
trouble of keeping her in order much longer, you know.  It will be
somebody else's business to scold her soon."

'Somebody else!  What could he mean?  I dared not ask, for he had not
spoken to me; so I could only glance curiously, first at him, then at
my father.  There was not much to be gathered from their faces,
however.  That of the latter was stern, and a little anxious, while
his friend's expressed nothing but amusement.

'"There, there!  A truce to that for the present, Mountfort," my
father said as he caught my eye.  "As you say, Hebe's knees are,
luckily, not broken--(no thanks to her mistress, though); so we will
say no more about it now.  Frances, this is my friend, Sir Harry
Mountfort.  Give him your hand; and don't look sheepish, like a
little country maiden who has never seen a gentleman in her life
before."

'Now, however sheepish one may feel, one does not like to be called
so before a stranger; so I held up my head, and made a tremendous
effort to look dignified and self-possessed, as became Mistress
Frances Dalrymple of Horsemandown.  Sir Harry shook hands
good-naturedly; asked me about my hunting; said I sat my horse
admirably, and wished me a good day's sport; but I could hardly
answer him properly, because I was trying all the time to hear what
my father was saying to Shad and Oliver.  He did not take Shad to
task, as he had threatened to do, but merely told him to go on with
Oliver, and to take the horses gently down the lane.  But what was my
dismay when he said, "Mistress Frances will not hunt this morning.  I
shall take her home with me!"  I really could not keep the tears out
of my eyes this time, it was such a terrible disappointment.  I
looked ruefully at Sir Harry, with a faint hope that he might
remonstrate on my behalf, as he had done before.  But no: he
evidently did not mean to do any such thing; so I was obliged to keep
my vexation to myself, and watch Shad and Oliver with longing eyes,
as they vanished from view down the lane.  I could not understand
whether my father was still angry with me or not, but thought he must
have put a stop to my hunting as a punishment for my carelessness in
risking Hebe's knees.  What other reason he could have, I tried in
vain to imagine.  He had never before cared to have me with
him,--never before introduced me to any of the friends who from time
to time he brought to Horsemandown.  At all events, whatever his
motive might be, I thought it very hard to be obliged to ride soberly
home by my father's side, when I might have been galloping over the
fields, leaping hedges and ditches,--chattering at my ease to Oliver,
with no one to control us but poor, dear, old Shad, who let us do
almost anything we chose; and whom in return, I am afraid, we teased
without mercy.  We rode slowly back up the lane, and through the
park; and though I kept on crying to myself, I contrived to choke
back the sobs that rose in my throat.  But tears would roll faster
and faster down my cheeks.  I thought of my last day's hunting, when
I had outstripped all the ladies of the party, not to mention Oliver
and Shad,--when the master of the hounds had praised my horsemanship,
and I had struck Miles and Roger with awe and admiration by bringing
home the brush in my hat.  How proud I was of my exploits that day!
and how much I had been bent upon gaining even more praise this
morning!  Dear me!  I am afraid I must have been a vain little girl
in those days, and a very foolish one too, to make such a fuss about
a little disappointment.  A year later I had learned to be wiser; for
the more of the world we see, the less important we think ourselves;
and when once we know by experience what real trouble is, little
everyday vexations seem much easier to bear.  For some time my father
and Sir Harry were too much wrapped up in their own conversation to
take any notice of me or my tears.  I daresay I should have listened
too, and forgotten my grievance, if I could have understood what they
were saying; but, unfortunately, they spoke French; and though I used
to read French and make translations every day with Master
Waynefleet, that was quite a different thing to being able to follow
it when people chose to speak in very fast and eager undertones.  Now
and then I caught my own name, but that only made me feel more
aggrieved at not understanding anything else.  So I cried on like a
silly child, "because I'd nothing else to do" (as that Irish song
says, that Christie is always singing when she goes up and down
stairs).  At last Sir Harry turned his head to ask me whether I
thought mamma would give him a night's lodging, and looked somewhat
astonished at the sight of my dolorous face.

'"Why, Dalrymple!" cried he; "here's a melancholy state of things.
Your daughter is weeping out those bright eyes of hers, by way of
giving us a welcome to Horsemandown."

'"What's the matter now, Frances?"

'My father's glance of cold surprise, and the tone of annoyance with
which he asked this, checked my tears in a moment.

'"Well!" he repeated when I hesitated, thoroughly ashamed of having
behaved so childishly before a stranger.  "Oh, is that all?" he said
when I murmured something about hunting; and he looked at Sir Harry
with a laugh, and an expressive shrug of the shoulders.  "Don't be a
baby, child!  I expected to find you more of a woman."

'This was humiliating.  I would have given up two or three days'
hunting now not to have cried.

'"Never mind, Mistress Frances," said good-natured Sir Harry; "you
can go a-hunting when I am gone, you know.  I shall be off to-morrow
morning, so you only have to-day to make my acquaintance; and you and
I are going to be great friends, I am sure."  And so we were, before
many minutes had passed.  My tears dried in the wind, and in a little
while I found myself talking and laughing with Sir Harry Mountfort as
if I had known him all my life, and much more at my ease then I had
ever ventured to be with my father.  Sir Harry asked me all sorts of
questions, paid me all sorts of compliments, and said the most absurd
things with the gravest of faces; and my father, too, talked more
pleasantly than he had ever talked to me before, and laughed at his
friend's ridiculous speeches as much as I did myself.  I began to
think Sir Harry the kindest man I had ever seen, and yet every now
and then there was something in his eyes that gave me a suspicion
that he was what Robin would call "chaffing me."  All the time, I had
a vague sort of feeling that my mother would dislike him, though I
could not feel sure why.  As we rode up to the house, Miles and Roger
came tearing out of the poultry-yard to see who we were, but, upon
closer inspection, tore back again, and, by the time we had
dismounted, reappeared walking demurely one on each side of mamma,
who wore her great black garden hood, and had her apron filled with
eggs.  However she was dressed, mamma could not look anything but a
thorough lady, and a very beautiful woman too; still my father, as he
greeted her and introduced Sir Harry Mountfort, was evidently a
little bit distressed at her costume, and, I could see, was
particularly scandalized at the exhibition of the eggs.  "So you have
brought back Frances!" she said, looking anxiously at my face, which
still showed signs of my crying fit.

'"Nothing has happened?  She has had no accident with Hebe?"

'"No, sweetheart," replied my father, with a tinge of impatience in
his voice; "I wanted the child at home to-day.  Surely when I come
home, after being absent for so long, my daughter might be content to
spend a few hours with me without grudging."  Then, as I ran away to
change my habit and tell my adventures to the boys, I heard him add
in a lower key: "I must have a little conversation with you about
Frances, Sir Harry and I have----"

'The rest of the sentence I lost, but I had heard enough to throw me
into a state of extreme curiosity and excitement.  Something must be
going to happen to me,--there could be no doubt about that; but was
it to be something agreeable or disagreeable?  I felt half
frightened, yet at the same time in tremendously high spirits, as I
pondered over this mysterious something, and made all sorts of wild
guesses as to what it could be.  How I longed for Oliver to come
home, that I might talk it over with him!  But I knew he would not
return till late in the afternoon; and Miles and Roger were so
little.  Besides, Roger was always making odd remarks, and saying
just the thing one did not want him to say.  There was no telling
what he might repeat before Sir Harry or my father; for Roger never
knew what it was to be afraid of anybody, and he had a way of looking
at you solemnly, with his head first on one side and then on the
other, and then coming out suddenly, in his slow grave voice, with
some observation that from any of the rest of us would have sounded
most impertinent, but which, from him, only sent people into fits of
laughter.  No! it would not do, I decided, to consult Miles and
Roger.  I must keep my conjectures to myself till I could be alone
with mamma.  She might perhaps tell me something, if there was
anything to tell.  I saw nothing of her, however, till dinner, which
was in the middle of the day, not at eight o'clock in the evening:
that was our supper-hour.  We generally dined all together, even when
my father was at home; but now that Sir Harry was in the house, I was
rather afraid that we should be condemned to have dinner in the
nursery.  That might be all very well for the little boys; but for
me, the eldest of the family, mamma's companion, to be classed with
them, would be too humiliating.  So I fussed and fidgeted, snapped at
my brothers, and made nurse quite angry, and good-humoured Rebecca
almost cross, by perpetually teasing them to know whether they
thought I should be allowed to dine down-stairs.  At length a man's
step was heard on the staircase, and, when the door opened, who
should be seen but my father!  Nurse jumped up as if she thought the
house must be on fire; Rebecca upset her work-basket and knocked down
the fire-irons; and Miles and I stopped in the middle of a furious
quarrel about a drum, which he wanted to turn into a cage for
dormice.  No wonder my father created such a sensation in the
nursery; for never before had he been seen there, since I could
remember, except once, when Oliver had swallowed a bullet, and was
supposed to be dying.  "Come down with me, Frances," said he, not
deigning to observe the commotion he had excited.  He held out his
hand, and I sprang towards him, casting a triumphant glance at Miles
and Roger as I did so.  But my father, instead of taking me at once
down-stairs, surveyed me all over so critically that I hung down my
head and blushed crimson, painfully conscious of a large hole
recently torn in my dress, and of hair which might have been brushed
that morning, but which looked as if it had not been touched for a
week.

'"Go and tell nurse to make you fit to be seen, child," said he in
his usual cold, measured tones; "and then you can come with me."

'Of course nurse was excessively elaborate in her proceedings after
this injunction.  I thought she never would have done combing and
curling my unfortunate locks, or arranging and smoothing each plait
and fold of my best dress.  But at last it was over, and I suppose
the result was satisfactory; for though my father led me away without
a word, Sir Harry Mountfort turned to my mother when we entered the
dining-room, and said something about "a sweet little bride," and
"hoping to see a coronet on those pretty dark tresses,"--remarks
which, while they puzzled me exceedingly, caused me to hold up my
head and colour with surprise and pleasure.

'I had never heard so many compliments before, and felt rather vexed
that mamma only smiled very faintly, and immediately began to talk
about something else--about a certain Earl Desmond, in whom both she
and my father appeared to be greatly interested, though I, who had
never heard his name before, could not care about him.  So I let my
thoughts wander off to all kinds of subjects.  I wondered what sort
of a day's sport Oliver and Shad were having,--whether Hebe was as
sorry as I was, to be cheated of her day with the hounds; and then I
wondered afresh what Sir Harry's mysterious words could mean.
Perhaps it would be as well to listen to what was going on, in case I
might be able to glean something from the conversation about myself.
So I turned my eyes away with an effort from the sunny slope of
green, swelling down, on which they were gazing (you know the view
from the window of the oak parlour), and fixed them on Sir Harry just
as he was saying:

'"Ah, your daughter will have a splendid position at court one day, I
doubt not, madam.  The Earl of Desmond's ancient title and large
estates must give him a good deal of political influence, even if he
does not turn out, as I think he will, a man with a pretty strong
character of his own."

'The Earl of Desmond still!  But what could he have to do with me?
And how, oh how, was I to have a splendid position at court through
his means?  I did not dare to ask, as one of you would have done; for
to speak in the company of one's elders, without being spoken to, was
a proceeding unthought of in those days.  I could only glance from
Sir Harry's to my mother's face, and then for the first time I
noticed how sad and anxious it looked.  Her eyes, too, had a red rim
round them, as if she had been crying.  What could be the reason?

'"That she may be good and happy, sir, is all I desire for her,"
replied she; "and that I trust she may be, in whatever position she
is placed."

'"With such a mother, she cannot be otherwise than good," replied Sir
Harry, with a little bow.  "And as for happiness, she will have all
that people covet most, to give it her,--rank, wealth, beauty."

'And here, I suppose, Sir Harry caught sight of me gazing at him with
eyes rounded by astonishment; for he broke off what he was saying, to
ask me if I had forgiven him yet for spoiling my ride, and whether I
would do him the great favour of showing him the fox's brush I had
told him about, etc. etc.  He certainly was very good-natured, and
treated me more like a woman than any one had ever done before.  He
asked me to take wine with him, and bowed with so much deference,
that I felt quite shy and uncomfortable for a moment.  He asked about
all my plays and studies, seemed quite interested in hearing of the
delights of going fishing with Oliver and Roger, in stories about the
young hawks which Miles and I were bringing up between us, and in the
brood of rabbits which belonged to us all.  Then he wanted to know if
I was fond of music; if I could sing or play or dance; and, for the
first time in my life, I felt rather ashamed of being obliged to say
no to all these questions.

'"But you would like to learn, would you not?" said Sir Harry when we
arrived at this point in the conversation, putting another bunch of
grapes on my plate as he spoke.

'"Yes; I think I should, if mamma would let me;" and I looked
doubtfully in her direction.  But it was my father who replied.

'"Liking has nothing to do with it.  Frances will of course learn
whatever is necessary for her future rank and station.  There is
plenty of time: the child is only ten years old, I believe."

'"Eleven in May," I could not help whispering though dreadfully
frightened at my own boldness; and I suppose mamma thought I had gone
quite far enough, for she rose to leave the room, signing to me to
follow her; which I did willingly enough, eager to escape the
displeasure which I felt sure I read in my father's eyes, and hoping
that now at last I should hear the meaning of all the mysteries which
had puzzled me that morning.  Mamma looked very grave, as she took my
hand and led me into that little room which your uncle now calls his
"laboratory," I believe, and which smells of sulphur and gunpowder,
and all kinds of dreadful things.  It never smelt of anything worse
than dried lavender and rose leaves in my time; for it was mamma's
own sitting-room, where she heard me my lessons, gave orders to the
servants, and did all kinds of things, which the present Lady
Dalrymple would leave to her housekeeper.  I began to think that the
something, which I felt sure was going to be revealed to me, was some
dreadful misfortune, when she kissed me, and said:

'"My little Frances is longing to know what we were all saying at
dinner-time about her, is she not?"

'"Yes--oh yes, madam.  What is it?  What did Sir Harry Mountfort mean
by saying that I should have a splendid position at court some day?
And what did----?"  Here I stopped abruptly, for there were certainly
tears in mamma's eyes, though she tried to smile, as she told me to
bring my stool to her side, and she would tell me all about it.

'"You heard us talking about the Earl of Desmond, Frances," she said,
smoothing my hair softly back from my forehead as I leant against
her.  "He is a boy of about fourteen, an orphan, and Sir Harry
Mountfort is his guardian.  Sir Harry is a great friend of your
father's; and for various reasons which you would not understand,
even if I told them to you, he has proposed that a marriage shall
take place between you and his ward.  Your father has consented; and
he brought Sir Harry down here to-day to inform me of their plans,
and to make various arrangements which are necessary, before the
wedding can take place."

'"Wedding!  Then I am to be married now?--soon?--not wait till I am
grown up?" I asked eagerly.

'"I believe so; before very long, at any rate," said my mother.  And
I sat silent, trying to take it all in, for at least two whole
minutes.  Confused and surprised as I felt, I was not quite so much
taken aback as Silvia would be if her uncle informed her that a like
event was to happen to her; for I had often heard mamma talk about
the little Princess Mary, the sister of the reigning king, Charles
II., who had been married when she was only eleven years old.

'Moreover, my own mother's wedding had taken place when she was but
fifteen, while a little cousin of hers had been a bride at nine.

'"Married to the Earl of Desmond!" I repeated slowly.  "Then, shall I
have to manage a house, and have keys, and settle the dinners, and
order the servants, like you, mamma?"

'"Not for a great many years to come, I hope, Frances.  I don't think
you are quite fit for that at present, are you?"

'"I could order dinner, I think," said I; a momentary vision coming
across me of myself in a sweeping gown just like mamma's, with
mittens on my arms, a large apron with pockets in it, a chatelaine
hanging by my side, and jingling an immense bunch of keys while I
discoursed to the maids about bleaching the linen on the
bowling-green, or to the men about the brewing; or perhaps gave away
medicine, food, and advice to the poor people on Lord Desmond's
estates.  I gave it up with a little sigh, for I had a great desire
to be considered a woman; and then, a fresh view of the case suddenly
occurring to me, I cried: "Oh mamma, what shall I be called when I am
married?  Shall I be Lady Desmond, just as you are Lady Dalrymple?"

'"You will be Frances Carey Countess of Desmond, of higher rank than
I am, my child.  I am only the wife of a baronet: you will be the
wife of an earl."

'This piece of grandeur filled my foolish little head with such a
sense of elation, that I was on the point of running away directly to
tell the news to nurse and my brothers; but a glance at mamma's face
stopped me.  "Don't you like my being Countess of Desmond, mamma?" I
ventured to ask, a sort of vague fear coming into my heart for the
first time.  "They won't take me away from you, will they?"  I took
hold of her hand and held it very tight.

'"No, no," cried my mother in a voice which sounded as if she was
angry with me; and yet she held me very close all the time.  "You
will be my Frances, my only daughter, just the same.  A wife's duties
are the same, in whatever station she is placed: and who can teach
you to love, honour, and obey your husband, as well as I can?  But
what am I talking of!" she added in a different tone, seeing that I
was looking at her, very much puzzled.

'Mamma, who was usually so quiet and composed, had a bright colour in
her cheeks, and was talking faster and louder than I had ever heard
her in my life before.  She smiled when she saw how surprised I
looked, and said, more in her natural voice:

'"You are too young, Frances, to understand quite what I was thinking
about.  I could have wished that your marriage could have been put
off till you were old enough to know your own mind; but your father
says it must take place at once.  Of course he knows best; so that
may be considered as settled.  All I want you to remember is, that
the promise you make on your wedding day you will some day be called
upon to fulfil.  And now run away and tell the others all about it."

'I said "yes;" but I do not think I quite took in all mamma meant, so
eager was I to obey the last part of her commands and tell my
wonderful news to the boys.  I could not find any one in the nursery
but nurse and Rebecca, who were quite as much surprised and struck
with my tidings as I could have wished.  Nurse said, "Mercy on us!
Dear heart alive!" three times over, and then begged I would not
forget my poor old nursey when I was a grand madam; while Rebecca
took to calling me "my lady" from that day forward, till mamma
discovered it and stopped her.  But where were the boys?  I cared
much more for what Oliver thought of the matter than for the opinion
of any one else in the world.  And, besides--though I liked it--I
found the servants' sudden respect rather embarrassing.  Miles and
Roger were out-of-doors, nurse said, "in some pickle or another,"
she'd "warrant them."  Her words were certainly prophetic; for, after
a long hunt, I discovered Miles on the top branch of a very rotten
old ash tree, which overhung the deepest part of the pond in the
park; endeavouring with a long looped string to catch the sails of
his favourite toy boat, which had floated far away from the shore;
while Roger, on the very edge of the steep bank, was making violent
efforts to reach it with the end of a slender pole.

'Nothing I could say would induce them to come away, till I announced
that I saw Shad and Oliver riding into the stable-yard, and proposed
that we should race to meet them, and ask Shad to rescue the unhappy
boat.  Roger set off directly, and Miles got out of the tree so
quickly that I really thought he must tumble into the pond in doing
so.  He scrambled down safe, however, with very green clothes and a
very red face; and after a rush across the park, and a few words with
Oliver, the two carried off the good-natured Shad between them, and I
was left alone with my eldest brother.  He was in very high spirits,
and whenever I tried to begin my story, burst in with some new
description of the run.

'"What a pity you didn't come, Frances!" said he at last.  "By the
by, what did my father want with you?"

'"That is just what I have been trying to tell you ever since you
came in," said I pettishly; "but you would not listen; and I'm sure
it's much more important than about the fox getting into Farmer
Grimley's yard, or how you rode down all the pigs."

'"Why, what can it be?" said Oliver, looking intensely surprised.
"You generally like to hear about all those sort of things so much,
Frances."

'"Yes, yes, I know; but oh!  Oliver, what do you think of this?  I am
going to be married to the Earl of Desmond!"  Oliver opened his eyes
so wide for a moment that I thought he would never be able to shut
them again, and then, much to my astonishment and, I am afraid,
disgust, went off into a hearty fit of laughter.

'"You going to be married!  Oh Frances, I can't believe it!  What can
the Earl of Desmond want to marry you for?"  I do not think Oliver
meant to be rude, but brothers are not over particular; and I felt
deeply offended.  I, who had been treated with so much attention by
my father's friend, who had been taken into mamma's confidence, and
who was about soon to become, as I phrased it to myself, "a married
woman," was I to be laughed at by a little boy a whole year younger
than myself?

'"And pray, why should he not want to marry me?" said I, drawing
myself up to my full height.  "But, of course, one cannot expect a
child of your age to understand anything about it; so I was wrong to
expect it."  And I walked away, with what I then thought an exact
imitation of mamma's most dignified manner, imagining that Oliver
must be completely crushed by this cutting reply.  But he only
laughed (it is impossible to put Oliver out of temper) and said:

'"Come, Fan, you needn't be quite so scornful.  Of course I want to
hear all about it.  Who is the Earl Desmond?  Not that gentleman who
came here to-day, surely?"

'"No," said I, slightly softened, but still, I am afraid, rather
patronizing; "he is a boy a year or two older than I am,
Oliver--about fourteen, I believe."

'"You don't mean it?" cried he, very much excited.  "I fancied he was
grown-up.  Is he coming here? will he live here?  Oh Frances!  I
always did wish you were a boy; but of course, if you marry this Earl
of Desmond, he will be my brother.  I always did want another
brother, Miles and Roger are so little.  By the by, what is his name?"

'I did not know; and Oliver went on with a string of questions, all
relating to my future husband, not one of which was I able to answer;
for, to say the truth, though my head had been full of my marriage
ever since I had heard of it, the bridegroom himself had hardly
entered into my thoughts at all.

'"Why, Fan, how stupid of you!" cried Oliver at last, after listening
to about a dozen "don't knows" in succession.  "You don't seem to
know anything.  I can't think why you did not ask mamma more
questions while you were about it.  Girls are generally curious
enough at any rate about other people's business.  You might at least
have found out whether he is to come here, or whether you are to go
and live in his house.  I declare I shall ask mamma myself to-night."

'"No, Oliver; indeed you had much better not.  Do you know I think
mamma is very unhappy about it?"

'"Unhappy!  Then, of course, that must be because you are going away."

'"No, I don't know; but I have an idea that I am not going away,
because, from what mamma said just now----"

'"Well, what did she say?  Come, dear old Fan, you always tell me
everything."  And Oliver put his arm round my neck and pulled me down
on a stone trough by the edge of the horse-pond--not the kind of
seat, I think, that nurse would have chosen for the future Countess
of Desmond, especially when that young lady had on her quilted
scarlet kirtle and new silver-grey gown, worked with wheat and
poppies.  When Oliver rubbed his curly, yellow head against my cheek
and called me "dear old Fan," I never could resist him, even when I
was really out of humour; so, giving up the grand airs that I had
been trying to assume, I sat by his side on the horse-trough and told
him all that mamma had been saying about teaching me to love, honour,
and obey my husband, and about my being called upon some day to
fulfil the promises which I should make at my marriage.

'"It's the having to obey him that will be the worst part," was
Oliver's first remark after we had both pondered silently for a
moment.  "That's just what you will particularly hate, Fan.  I'm sure
you'll never keep that part of the promise.  Why, you never were
over-fond of obeying any one except mamma."

'This was a slight drawback, certainly, when one came to think about
it.  Oliver was right in his opinion that I dearly loved my own
way,--and, with my brothers and Shad, I generally contrived to get
it: for to the boys I made the most of my privileges as the eldest
and the only girl; and as to Shad, he was the one person in the house
who was willing to let us all have our own way.  But then there were
so many people to keep us in order.  When there was mamma, my father,
Master Waynefleet, not to mention old nurse, one certainly did not
want any one else to command one's obedience.

'"Oh, of course, one's husband would be different," I said a little
bit doubtfully, nevertheless.  "You know mamma always obeys my
father, though I don't think she quite likes it; at least not always.
Do you know she said to-day that she wished I could have waited till
I was older, to be married, but that papa thought it best that it
should be at once.  So it must be settled."  I did not add, as mamma
had done, "till I was old enough to know my own mind."  At ten years
old, I thought people, of course, must know their own minds; and I
felt quite sure that I wanted to be the Earl of Desmond's wife, and
that it would be a terrible disappointment to me if anything were to
happen to prevent the marriage, or even to put it off till I should
be grown-up.

'"Well," said Oliver philosophically, "perhaps people's husbands are
different; at all events, that's your business.  As long as I'm not
forced to obey him, I don't care who does.  But, Fan, won't it be
good fun when he comes here.  Is he very rich?  I daresay he'll bring
his own horses, and perhaps hounds too, and we can all go out hunting
together.  I wonder if he cares for fishing?"

'"I think he is very rich and grand," I remarked; "because Sir Harry
said something about my having a splendid position at court."

'Oliver's countenance fell rather at this idea.  He evidently could
not appreciate the delights of "a splendid position at court."

'"Ah, but that would not be for a long while, surely, Fan; very
likely not till you are grown-up.  Fancy you mincing about in a court
dress, just like a peacock, and saying, 'May it please your Majesty,'
and flourishing an enormous fan!"

'I was ashamed to confess it to Oliver, but in my secret soul I
rather liked this picture of myself in the "splendid position."

'"Yes," continued Oliver, "we shall have good sport if this husband
of yours is a pleasant kind of a fellow; but we should have better
still, if he was going to take you away with him to live at his own
house."

'This speech did not sound like a brotherly one; and it wounded my
feelings severely.

'"Really, Oliver," cried I, with flaming cheeks and eyes brimming
with tears, "you are very unkind and selfish.  I thought you would be
glad that I am not going ever so far away, where you would never see
me at all."

'"Why, Fan! don't be silly.  You always get into such a fume about
nothing.  I only meant that I might come and stay with you, and we
could do everything we chose, and you could order dinner, and sit at
the head of the table, and carve, of course; or I could carve for
you, and we should have no lessons or cross-grained Master
Waynefleets to plague us."

'"Ah, but you would only be able to come now and then," said I more
gently, for my anger was a good deal softened down.  Oliver's plans
for my married life were certainly charming, and threw even the
"splendid position" into the shade.

'"There's a good girl!  That's the best of you, Fan.  If you do put
yourself in a fume for nothing, you are out again almost as soon as
you are in.  Now, you didn't really believe I wanted you to go away?
Why you must know how dull it would be here, without you to quarrel
with and lord it over the small boys!"

'The idea of such a state of things so melted Oliver, that, as we
were quite alone--not even the said small boys in sight--he actually
condescended to kiss me, or rather to let me kiss him,--a most
unwonted sign of affection on his part; for he generally sturdily
refused to be kissed by anybody but mamma (and even to that he
submitted with great reluctance), except once a year, on his
birthday.  So, my good temper being quite restored by this, we sat
very happily on our trough, chattering too fast to observe that
Oliver's muddy boot was not improving the splendour of the scarlet
kirtle, and that the poppy-covered skirt, to the length of at least
two inches, was steeping itself in the green water of the horse-pond.
Presently the sound of footsteps and voices made us look round; and
when the yard-gate opened, and Sir Harry Mountfort and my father
suddenly appeared upon the scene, we were so much startled, that
Oliver's first exploit was to topple backwards into the trough, while
I, with like promptitude, sprang up, plunging one foot ankle-deep
into the pond.  This was an embarrassing state of things.  For the
first time I became conscious of the deplorable state of my frock;
and when I saw Sir Harry's stare of surprise, not unmixed with
amusement, and my father's face of annoyance, I felt inclined to take
another and more effectual plunge into the horse-pond, and vanish for
ever in its stagnant depths.  It really makes me laugh now to
remember what a very absurd figure I must have looked, with my fine
embroidered dress soaked in muddy water, and my hair blowing about in
a mad state of dishevelment, from beneath one of Oliver's most
ancient and battered hats, which I had snatched off a peg in the hall
as I ran out to look for the boys after dinner.  I had never been in
the habit of caring much how I looked.  Brothers of ten years old are
not critical with regard to their sisters' appearance.  On the
contrary, they make a point of discouraging the least attempt to look
"nice" (as you would call it); and as to taking care of their own
clothes, or those of other people, why, I should have been withered
up with scorn if I had suggested such a notion to my brothers!  But I
never had.  It was only to-day that Sir Harry's compliments, and the
prospect of my new dignities, had put it into my head to think about
my dress and appearance.  The fact that I was a remarkably pretty
little girl had never struck me before; and now that I had begun to
care for these things, and particularly wished to look my best, here
was the bride-elect, the future Countess of Desmond, ignominiously
caught splashing about in a stable-yard, drenched in mud and mire,
and attired in that shabby, old, high-crowned hat.  Oliver told me
afterwards that I looked like a witch who had just been ducked.  My
father surveyed us from head to foot with a curling lip and severe
eyes; then he turned, with a short laugh to Sir Harry, and said
something in a low voice.  The only words I could distinctly hear
were: "Just as I told you ... put an end to this;" to which Sir Harry
answered with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders, which stung me to
such a degree that I forgot all his flattering speeches, and for a
moment absolutely hated him.

'"Come here, Frances," my father said; and I obeyed slowly and
reluctantly.  "What would your mother say, child, if she heard you
had been romping with your brother in the stable?"

'"She would not mind, sir; at least, perhaps, she would to-day,
because of my holiday gown.  But I often come here with Oliver."

'"And we were not romping," interrupted Oliver; "we were only
talking; and it was my fault that she has spoiled her kirtle, for I
dragged her down on to the trough.  Indeed, sir, mamma always lets
Fan come here; and she fishes for carp with me sometimes."  I was
grateful to Oliver for standing up for me; but I could have wished
that he had not mentioned the carp just then.

'"Indeed!" was my father's reply.  "Well, you had better go up to
nurse and tell her to make you look more like a gentlewoman, and less
like a strolling-player.  A stable-yard is all very well for your
brother, but hardly the place where one expects to find a young
lady."  This was a sentiment in which both nurse and Rebecca most
thoroughly agreed; and they continued to enlarge upon it all the time
that they were setting me to rights in the nursery.

'"A very fit place for Master Oliver, to be sure, seeing that he was
a boy and had all his old clothes on, just come back from hunting.
But to think that Mistress Frances should be found there! and by the
strange gentleman too--Mistress Frances, who was going to be married
so soon, and, what was more, to marry a lord!  Alack! alack!"  Nurse
could only shake her head despondingly.  Her young lady was certainly
very far at present from her beau-ideal of "a grand madam."  I felt
very much humiliated, and consequently very cross and sulky; and when
at last I was set free from nurse's hands, I stood in pouting silence
watching the sunset out of the nursery window, and wishing that Sir
Harry Mountfort and the Earl of Desmond had never been heard of;
envying Oliver, who sat eating the dinner that had been kept for him,
and holding forth to Miles and Roger on the adventures of Shad and
himself during their morning's sport.....


'When I awoke on the morning of my wedding day, with a vague
consciousness that something unusual was going to happen, the first
thing that met my eyes was a dazzling heap of white satin that
completely covered the table; and I had stared dreamily at it for
some minutes before the fact that I was looking at my wedding dress
dawned upon me.  Then suddenly a clear recollection of what was going
to take place came with a rush into my mind.  I raised myself on my
elbow and gazed round the room, which seemed quite spread over with
silk and satin, ribbons and lace.  And there was nurse bustling about
amidst all the finery, herself in more gorgeous array than I had ever
seen her wear before.

'"Now, Mistress Frances, my dear," quoth she, when she saw that I was
awake, "'tis high time to get up and be dressed.  Why, you've slept
full an hour later than usual; and I wouldn't wake you, because I
heard you tossing about last night, hours and hours after you should
have been asleep and dreaming."

'This was true; for I had been in such a feverish state of excitement
the night before, that though mamma had sent me to bed earlier than
usual, I had heard the church clock strike one before I could go to
sleep.  And now, though the day to which I had been looking forward
for the last month had actually come at last, though my wedding-dress
was lying in all its glory before my eyes, I felt far more inclined
to sink back on my pillow and fall asleep again, than to get up and
be dressed, as nurse proposed.

'"What, sweetheart!" she went on, as I blinked my eyes drowsily;
"sure, you haven't forgotten you are going to be married to-day?  And
there's the young gentleman himself playing in the garden with your
brother, and never so much as set eyes on his bride!"  These words of
nurse's effectually roused me.

'"What!" cried I, wide awake at length; "did he come then, nurse,
after all?  And was it very late?  And what is he like?"  I took a
flying leap out of bed before I had finished my string of questions,
and, mounting on the window-sill, looked out upon the garden and
park.  You know the window I mean; my bedroom was the same that
Christie and Dolly have now--only, in my time the uneven oak boards
were not hidden by a carpet, and there was one immense four-post bed
hung with green taffeta, instead of two little curtainless French
ones.  No pretty toilet-table was in existence then, decked out with
pink calico and white muslin.  That little square table in the
library, carved with grapes and vine-leaves, and men with goat's
legs, used to stand in the middle of my room in those days, and I
used to look at myself in a small oval mirror in an ebony frame that
hung on the wall, and the top of which I had ornamented with my fox's
brush.  Extremely bare and uncomfortable such a room would doubtless
seem to you, but it never struck me in that light.  Compared to the
boy's room, it was extremely well furnished--almost luxurious.
However, I must not dwell upon my dear old room and its furniture.  I
liked it because it was my own, and I kept all my treasures there;
but of course I cannot expect you to take the same interest in
it--only, I thought perhaps you might like to know how Christie's
bedroom looked when I woke there on my wedding morning nearly two
centuries ago.  It was a lovely morning, though very sharp and
wintry.  The sky was a pale-blue one, without a single cloud; and a
little snow had fallen during the night, but only enough to scatter a
few flakes among the dark glossy leaves and red berries of the holly
trees, and to sprinkle the country with a light powdery covering that
sparkled like diamond-dust in the sun.  I could see the boys as I
looked from my window: there they were, as nurse had said, careering
about the garden--Roger's small wiry figure, Miles' square sturdy
one, and Oliver a head and shoulders above them both; and there was
also a fourth figure, towards which I strained my eyes with intense
interest.  But at such a distance very little was to be seen; my
curiosity was obliged to be satisfied for the present with the
discovery that he was taller and stouter than Oliver, but neither his
face nor even the colour of his dress was to be distinguished.  This
bird's-eye view of my bridegroom was unsatisfactory, being cut short
by nurse, who dragged me indignantly down from the window-seat just
as Lord Desmond was aiming at Oliver's head with a snow-ball, and I
was watching in breathless excitement to see whether it would hit.

'"Lack-a-mercy!  Mistress Frances, do you want to catch your death of
cold on your wedding day, and for all the company to be at church
before you are dressed?"

'Not wishing to bring down either of these calamities on my head, I
reluctantly allowed myself to be drawn away from the window, and
submitted passively to a longer and more elaborate toilet than I had
ever undergone in my life before.  Meanwhile I consoled myself by
asking nurse all manner of questions about the bridegroom,--what he
was like, who were his companions, and the time and manner of his
arrival.  I could not get a great deal of news out of her,--she was
too much wrapped up in the splendours of my bridal gear.  Only now
and then, between her bursts of enthusiasm over each piece of finery
in turn, and her pathetic warnings to me to "have a care of such
brave, goodly raiment," did she find time to impart in snatches the
following information.

'Sir Harry Mountfort had arrived the previous night with his ward the
young Lord Desmond, and his little niece Mistress Agnes Blount, who
was to be one of my bride-maidens.  The house of New Court, Sir
Harry's home, was about twenty miles from Horsemandown, and the
travellers were nearly half-way upon their road when a report reached
them of highwaymen being in the neighbourhood.  This rumour, though
vague and doubtful, was nevertheless somewhat alarming, as the
country through which their journey lay was extremely wild and
lonely; especially one part of the road through the Boarhurst
woods--those woods where you had your picnic last summer.  There were
no broad, smooth carriage-drives through them, though, in our time;
only a narrow bridle-path, through which Lord Desmond and his
companions must ride in single file.  So Sir Harry thought it prudent
to go back for a larger escort, and it was on that account that they
had not reached Horsemandown till ten o'clock in the evening (just an
hour after mamma had, much to my indignation, ruthlessly sent me to
bed).  Thus much I contrived to draw out of nurse, by dint of
persistent cross-examination all the time I was being dressed; also,
that Lord Desmond was a dark young gentleman, a fair-spoken lad
enough, and not ill-favoured, but nought to set beside Master Oliver,
with his bonnie blue eyes and yellow locks.

'"As to little Mistress Blount, she was so wearied, poor lamb!" said
nurse, "that she scarce kept her eyes open to eat her supper; and
when my lady told me to put her to bed, she was not so loth to come
as you were yesternight, Mistress Frances."

'I was rather anxious to go down to breakfast in full bridal array,
from the rich lace veil to the long white gloves embroidered with
silver thread; but nurse was greatly scandalized at such a suggestion.

'"A pretty notion, forsooth!" quoth she with a derisive snort.
"What!  Mistress Fan, would you have those beautiful lace ruffles dip
into the trenchers, and get steeped in honey and conserves?  Sure,
Master Oliver's basin of milk would be pouring over your fine kirtle,
before breakfast was over.  No, no; I am going at least to send you
to church fit to behold, happen what may afterwards."

'And mamma coming in while we were disputing settled the point
instantly in favour of nurse's decree.  I could not argue with mamma,
so I was silenced as once; and quietly submitted to wear one of the
pretty new dresses, which had been made for my wedding outfit.  Mamma
sent nurse away, saying that she would finish dressing me herself;
and I was glad to be alone with her, for I had seen much less of her
than usual of late.  Ever since Sir Harry had left us, rather more
than a fortnight before, there had been a constant bustle of
preparation going on in the house.  It was not only my approaching
wedding that caused this bustle,--the Christmas festivities had also
to be prepared for; and mamma had been busy from morning till night.
Besides the roast beef and boar's head, the plum-pudding and
mince-pies, for our own household, there was Christmas cheer for the
poor people of the village to be supplied,--blankets and fuel and
clothing to be given away.  Then there were my wedding clothes, too,
for mamma to think about.  Such an ample new wardrobe had been
provided for me, that I began to think that my husband and I were to
take up our "splendid position at court" at once, after all, instead
of waiting till the far-off time of being grown-up.  I could not help
feeling considerable pride and satisfaction in these new clothes of
mine; they were made in such a much less childish way than my old
ones, and cut so much more in the fashion of the day.  Once, when
nurse was asleep after dinner, I gave Oliver a private view of them;
but he made such horrible faces of ridicule and contempt, that my own
respect for them began to diminish on the spot.

'It certainly was wearisome work having these things continually
tried on.  "Pride feels no pain," nurse and Rebecca used to assure me
when they pounced upon me just as I was rushing into the garden with
the boys to feed the rabbits, or into the kitchen on the chance of
getting a stray dainty from the manifold good things in preparation
there.  Nevertheless my pride generally gave way, on these occasions,
to the twofold pain of being obliged to stand still, and of seeing
the boys run off without me; and I used to pout and fume and twitch
till it became hard to tell which was most out of humour--nurse,
Rebecca, or myself.

'"What is the use of my having all these grand new things if I am not
to have a house of my own, but to go on living at home just the same
as ever?"  This question suddenly struck me one day, and I asked
nurse; whereupon she shut her eyes and shook her head, remarking that
"little ladies shouldn't be curious;" after which she gave vent to a
doleful and ominous sigh, and kissed me, muttering something about a
"poor thoughtless dear."  Now, as mamma was putting the finishing
touches to my toilet, arranging my tucker, and smoothing the hair
that always seemed to get into disorder if I moved my head, I put the
same question to her; but she only smiled a little and stroked my
head, telling me that I should know everything in good time.  "But,
madam," I persisted, "is Lord Desmond going to stay here, and live
with us, and play with me, and do lessons like Oliver?"

'"No, my dear Fan," she said, "he will not stay with us, neither will
you go away with him; but that is all I can tell you at present.
To-morrow we shall have time for a little talk together, and then you
shall hear all about your father's--about our plans for you.  Now,
sweetheart, you shall say your prayers to me this morning; and then
we must go down to breakfast, and present you to this little
bridegroom of yours."  My mother said these last words playfully, and
her own bright smile shone in her eyes for a moment; but in the next
they were swimming with tears, and her voice sounded very odd and
husky when, after I had prayed as usual for her, my father, and my
brothers, she bade me pray also that my husband might be blessed, and
that when I grew up to be a woman I might keep the promises which I
was going to make to-day.

'How well I remember the sudden rush of shyness which came over me as
I went down the staircase that morning!  Never in my life before had
I felt so painfully and intensely shy.  Miles and Roger passed us,
extremely snowy and wet and rosy, running up to their nursery
breakfast, and at that instant I had a strong inclination to burst
away from mamma and fly after them.

"I say," whispered Roger confidentially, catching my sleeve as he
passed, "your husband wants to know if it makes you angry to be
snow-balled."

'"Poor Fan," said Miles with heartfelt commiseration as he glanced at
my dress, "I suppose she will never be able to make snow-balls now,
or catch carp any more!"

'Mamma drew her hand gently away from me when we reached the door of
the breakfast parlour, and I followed her into the room with glowing
cheeks, and eyes fixed on the floor.  It was in what is now the
billiard-room that we used to breakfast, and it seemed to me
perfectly full of people.  Though Sir Harry Mountfort had not been
able to bring his ward till the night before, there had been no lack
of guests staying in the house since Christmas-eve.  It was the first
time for two or three years that my father had been at home at this
season; and Horsemandown was fuller of visitors, and more merriment
had been going on in the shape of mumming, dancing, and Christmas
games, than had ever been the case before in my recollection.  When I
rose up from the very deep and swimming courtesy with which the young
ladies of my time were taught to greet their acquaintances, I was for
a few moments only conscious of eyes bent upon me, and voices buzzing
confusedly in my ears.

"Ah, here she is at last!"  "Here is the little bride!"  "Poor child,
how shamefaced she is!"  "Faith, a well-favoured little maiden too!"
were some of the exclamations that greeted my entrance; while my
father came toward me at once, kissed my forehead very
affectionately, and led me, wavering between shyness and curiosity,
up to one of the deep window recesses, in which Sir Harry Mountfort
stood talking to a group of gentlemen.  He broke off what he was
saying, and advanced to meet me, exclaiming:

'"But here comes the heroine of the day--the fair bride herself!  And
now for the introduction!  Faith, Algernon, I should not mind
changing places with you a few years hence, if that face performs all
that it promises."  The last words were said in rather a lower tone,
as Sir Harry leant his hand on the shoulder of a boy who was talking
eagerly to Oliver, and who had not turned, as most of the other
company had done, when mamma and I came into the room.  He was
obliged to do so now, however, and, with rather an embarrassed smile,
came forward at his guardian's bidding, took my hand, and, murmuring
a few words of greeting, reluctantly kissed my cheek.  I had not the
least idea of what I ought to say to him, and apparently he was in
the same predicament with regard to me.  Mamma was obliged to go and
attend to her other guests, so I was left helpless, gazing at my
future husband in dead silence for a full minute.  I suppose he found
this disagreeable, for he coloured intensely, and at length with a
great effort managed to say, "Oliver has been showing me your ponies."

'I said, "Oh!" and then by a sudden inspiration added, "Which did you
think the prettiest?"

'"Oh!  Oliver's, without doubt."

'"_I_ think Hebe the prettiest," I said with decision.  Silence fell
on us once more, and I really thought this time it would last for
ever.  Never did I feel more grateful to Sir Harry than when he
brought up his little niece to me, saying he hoped we should be great
friends and see a good deal of each other.

'Agnes Blount set us at our ease directly.  She was not at all shy;
she found it possible to smile and answer prettily when my father
politely hoped that she had recovered from the fatigues of her
arduous journey.  She told us all about the adventures she and her
companions had met with the day before, appealing to Lord Desmond to
confirm her accounts of the dreadful danger they were in from
highwaymen, the darkness of Boarhurst woods, and the horrible state
of the roads, until she set him talking as unrestrainedly as any of
us.  She won Oliver's heart by saying she was fond of rabbits, and
mine by the interest she showed in hearing about the bridal
preparations.  The great banquet which had been preparing for so many
days I described minutely, as indeed I was well qualified to do; for
Miles and I had cried over the slaughter which had taken place in my
mother's poultry-yard, and had only been comforted by watching the
troops of red-armed cooks and scullions as they rushed hither and
thither in endless bustle; while huge pasties, delicate cakes,
mince-pies, and good things of all sorts, multiplied under their
hands as if by magic.  I whispered that the wassail bowl was to be
thrice as large as usual, in my honour; and, finally, I imparted the
important intelligence, that at the dance which was to conclude the
day's festivities I was to appear in my bridal attire and open the
ball.  I don't think I had a very clear idea of how I was to manage
this operation; but on that point Agnes managed to enlighten me,
without showing any unfeeling superiority over my ignorance.  She
could do everything, I gradually discovered; at least a great many
things that I could not, and which, therefore, I looked upon with
respectful admiration.  Sir Harry made her sing to us, in the
afternoon, a dainty little song, with a harp accompaniment, which
charmed everybody; and the graceful way in which she glided through
the mazes of a minuet with one of our guests so delighted my father,
that he paid her a formal and elaborate compliment on the elegance of
her dancing.  I remember being very much surprised at the time, to
see him take so much notice of a little girl; but I found out
afterwards why he took such an interest in Agnes Blount's
accomplishments.  Well, but I am getting on too fast.  Of course you
want to know all about my wedding, from the smoothing of the last
crease in my voluminous satin train (the care of which was a source
of dreadful anxiety to Agnes and her fellow bridesmaids) to the
moment when Lord Desmond put upon my finger the tiniest gold
wedding-ring in the world.  It is a most bewildering scene to look
back upon, even after all these years; and at the time I was so
confused by what I had to do, so encumbered by the grandeur of my
apparel, that I had but vague and indistinct ideas of what was going
on around me.  I remember the lines of eager faces which startled me
when I stepped out of the coach at the churchyard gate.  I recollect
experiencing a sort of shock on seeing that the familiar path up to
the church porch was covered with crimson cloth; but I think what
struck me most of all with a sense of the solemnity of the occasion,
was that Master Waynefleet whose thin locks I had contemplated for
many a Sunday, combed back and tied with a piece of ribbon, was on
this day resplendent in a curled and flowing wig, and wore a surplice
literally crackling with starch.  I believe I clung to my father's
hand in a most undignified manner as he led me up the aisle.  I have
a vision of a rainbow-coloured crowd of people on either side of the
altar; of mamma, a shade paler than usual, but trying to smile, in
order to reassure me; of Oliver, in difficulties with his sword
(which was only worn on state occasions, and was a source of mingled
pride and embarrassment to its owner); of Roger, in the background,
struggling desperately with nurse, in order to attain a lofty post of
observation on the tomb of a crusading Dalrymple.  But beyond this I
saw nothing, and can only repeat what nurse told me afterwards, that
"it was a gallant show, and did her old eyes good to look at it.  I'd
have gone ten miles barefoot any day to see you in all your bravery,
Mistress Francis, dear, and that sweet young gentleman, my Lord
Desmond, a-holding your hand so prettily, and your mamma, and all the
grand ladies shedding tears for joy, as indeed it was most befitting
they should."

'Nurse's praises and congratulations were the forerunners of a great
many more to which I had to listen that day.  At first I liked them,
and thought it grand to be complimented on the "way in which I had
borne myself on such a trying occasion;" but at last I grew very
tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.  The stiff, set
speeches which people vied with each other in making, the perpetual
allusions to my "tender years," and the hopes "that the union which
had commenced under such propitious circumstances might hereafter be
a source of great happiness to me, and of satisfaction to my
parents," were very tiresome; and to all this I had to reply, as
mamma had carefully impressed on me beforehand, "Madam, you do me
much honour," or, "I thank you, sir, for your good wishes," while I
made a profound courtsey to the lady or gentleman who addressed me.
Things were not much better at the long, formal, wearisome
entertainment which ensued, and which I thought never would be over.
People made speeches and proposed toasts with every glass of wine
they drank, and some of them drank a great many--so many that at last
it was not quite easy to make out whose health they did propose; and
when this point was settled, others seemed affronted at the toasts
they had chosen.

'I thought it all very uninteresting, after the health of Lord and
Lady Desmond had been drunk, and did not listen to what was going on.
I only know that the noise got louder and louder; so that, by the
time it was considered fitting that the ladies should retire to the
withdrawing-room, the clamour was so great that it was almost
impossible to distinguish what any one said.  The last thing I saw,
as we left the room, was Sir Harry Mountfort standing up, flushed and
excited, holding a bumper of wine in one hand, while he brought down
the other clenched fist with violence on the table, and called upon
all present to fill their glasses and drink to the health of the Duke
of York, the true heir to the throne.

'"What were they quarrelling about?" I asked Agnes Blount when the
uproar had died away in the distance, and we had found a quiet corner
to ourselves at the end of the long drawing-room.

'"Oh, politics, of course," she replied.  "We always know at home,
whenever the gentlemen get very much excited over their wine, and all
speak at once, and don't seem to listen at all to what other people
are saying, that they are talking about politics."

'"Well, but what are politics?" said I.  "We don't ever hear anything
about them here."

'"Oh, don't you know?  They are all about the King, and the
Parliament, Rochester, Halifax, and Godolphin, and a great many names
I can't remember, for I never listen.  But I should have thought you
must have heard of them, for I know Sir Bernard Dalrymple always has
more to say about all those people than anyone else who comes to my
uncle's house."

"Then I suppose you have often seen my father before you came here?"
I asked.

'"Oh yes; he has been there a great many times lately--I suppose to
settle about your marriage.  Algernon and I used to wonder what they
could be talking about when we saw them pacing up and down the
terrace by the hour together; till at last one day, just as we were
going to the fish-ponds with some bread and honey to feed the carp,
my uncle called Algernon to him and said, 'Come and shake hands with
this gentleman, Algernon; he is going to give you his daughter to be
your little wife.'"

'"Well, and what did Algernon say?" I asked eagerly; for, when Agnes
arrived at this interesting point in the story, she hesitated.

'"I don't think he quite liked the idea at first.  You see, he had
not seen you then; and it seemed so strange and sudden an idea," said
Agnes rather reluctantly.

'"But tell me exactly what he said," I persisted, with a not
unnatural desire to know how my bridegroom had received the news
which had excited me so much.

'"Why, he said, 'When I am grown-up, I suppose, sir?'  'Oh no,'
replied Sir Harry; 'we will not put your constancy to so severe a
trial.  In six weeks' time your marriage is to take place.'  Then
Algernon grew very red, and looked at his piece of bread and honey so
hard, that I thought he was making up his mind where he would take
the first bite; but at last he looked up and said, 'If I must be
married, sir, I would rather marry Agnes, because she knows where to
find my fishing-tackle, and can always undo my line when it gets into
a tangle.'  My uncle burst into a great fit of laughter when he heard
this, and Sir Bernard laughed a little too; but I grew very hot and
uncomfortable, and thought I should like to run away.  So I pulled
Algernon's sleeve; but just then my uncle left off laughing and said,
'No, no, Algernon, I have no doubt that Agnes is much obliged for
your good opinion of her; but, as her guardian as well as yours, I am
afraid I must decline your kind proposal.  And when you have seen
your future bride, who is about the prettiest little damsel I know,
you will, I trust, apologize to her father for having made such a
proposition in his very presence.'  Sir Bernard said no apology was
needed.  He shook hands with Algernon, and called him a fine fellow,
and, turning to me, said he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing me
at Horsemandown, and trusted I would be kind enough to impart to his
daughter that knowledge of fishing operations which Lord Desmond
thought so necessary in a wife.  He looked very grave all the time,
but I felt sure he must be laughing at me, and I had much ado to make
my reverence and thank him without beginning to cry.  That is how it
was settled; and when Algernon found out that you had brothers, and
that he was to have a week's holiday in honour of his wedding, he
began to like the idea very much.  For you know, when I am at school
he has no companions at all at New Court, and his tutor and Lady
Mountfort are so very strict and severe that he has but a dreary life
of it."

'My feelings had varied to and fro during Agnes's recital.  Sir
Harry's complimentary remarks hardly made up for Algernon's
indifference; but when she ended, I forgot his offences in pity for
one whose only companions were a tutor and Lady Mountfort, whose
stiff figure and severe expression of countenance had filled me with
awe and dislike the moment I saw her.  "How dreadful!" I exclaimed.
"What should Oliver and I do if we had to live like that?"

'"Hush!" said Agnes; "don't speak so loud, or my aunt will hear you.
She says children ought never to speak when they are in the same room
as their elders, unless they are spoken to."

'"Oh! but to-day surely she would not mind.  Mamma does not allow us,
in general, to speak when any one is here; but on my wedding
day"--and I drew up my head a little higher than usual--"things are
different."

'"I don't know," replied Agnes, looking uneasily in the direction of
Lady Mountfort; "she is so very particular.  Perhaps I ought not to
have told you all this, Frances."

'"I am very glad you have.  Oliver and I have so often wanted to know
something about Algernon, but mamma could not tell us much; and we
never think of asking my father any questions."

'"What has Agnes been telling you?" asked Lord Desmond, who at that
moment joined us with Oliver.

'"About New Court," interposed Agnes hastily, apparently afraid I
should relate the whole of our conversation.  "I was telling Frances
how very, very strict my aunt is, and how quiet we are obliged to be
in her presence.  I am sure school is almost better, if it were not
for the lessons."

'"Ah!" said Algernon with a heartfelt sigh, "I shall think it duller
than ever, now I have been here.  Only imagine, Agnes: they go out
with the hounds once or twice a week here, with a groom who lets them
do whatever they like!  Why, when I go out riding at home, or
whatever I do, there is always Master Hewling, with his starched
countenance and croaking voice, saying, 'It is not fitting, my lord,
that you should do this,' or, 'My duty to Sir Harry will not permit
me to allow your lordship to do the other!'  I have never been
allowed to do what I liked since I came to Sir Harry's house--never!"

'"But I thought," said I with some dismay, remembering the brilliant
castles in the air which Oliver and I had indulged in,--"I thought
you had a fine house of your very own, with beautiful gardens, and
park, and fishponds, and great stables as big as our whole house.
That is what nurse told me!"

'"Ah!" said Algernon, looking so sad that I was quite sorry I had
said anything about it, "that was where we lived when my father was
alive.  But it is of no use, for Sir Harry says I have not money
enough to live there; and besides, it is sold--no, not sold--what is
the word?--to somebody else."

'"Oh, but I heard something!" said Agnes, and then she stopped short
and coloured, while we all looked very much interested.

'"Well, what did you hear?" asked Algernon eagerly.  "I will know,
Agnes."

'"I don't think I ought to tell," she said, faltering and looking
very irresolute.

'"Did you promise you would not?" demanded Algernon.  "No?  Then tell
me directly."

'And Agnes, who, as I found out afterwards, always did what everybody
asked her, said: "It was only that I chanced to be in the room when
my aunt was talking to Father Freeling about you, and she said, 'My
husband has arranged a match for Algernon, which will put all these
unfortunate money matters straight again.  The young lady will have
an ample fortune when she comes of age; and, what is better still,
her father has undertaken to pay down, on her wedding day, a sum
sufficient to clear off all those mortgages (wasn't that the word you
meant, Algernon?) which Sir Harry's imprudent management rendered
necessary.'  'Indeed!' Father Freeling said, 'I think Sir Harry has
managed excellently well for the interests of his ward; and I
suppose, on the lady's side, the title is considered'--I couldn't
quite hear what; for just then my sampler frame dropped down, which I
think reminded my aunt that I was in the room, for she spoke in a
much lower tone after that, and I could only hear something about
'political considerations,' and the vote of Sir Harry being required
for some 'parliamentary bill,' and so on.  I could not quite
understand what they meant, but I could see they thought you would be
much richer for marrying Frances; so perhaps you will be able to go
and live at your old home again.  You would like that, Algernon?"

'"And we will all come and stay with you," cried Oliver, rather
louder than prudence warranted; for we had been talking hitherto
almost in whispers, in order to avoid the attention of our elders.  I
looked at Algernon to see what he thought of this proposal.  He
looked rather grave and puzzled; I think he understood a little
better than we did the meaning of all those long words which Agnes
had repeated so accurately, and which conveyed no idea to my mind at
all, except that Agnes thought I was very rich; which struck me as
being decidedly curious--my ideas of riches in those days being
limited to the amount of money I had in an old china cup up-stairs in
the nursery.  I was just going to say that I had only at present one
silver piece there, when the stiff rustle of Lady Mountfort's gown
was heard approaching, and we all sank into silence.  I should most
probably have forgotten all about this conversation, so little did I
understand the meaning of Agnes's words, had not Algernon much later
in the evening said to me in a low voice:

'"Perhaps, Frances, you had better not talk about what Agnes told us
to any one.  She was not intended to hear it; and--and--somehow I
fancy that your father and my guardian would not be over-pleased if
we said anything about it."

'"Very well, I will not," I replied, wondering very much what part of
Agnes's communication it could be which was likely to make the
good-humoured Sir Harry angry.

'"You can keep a secret, I suppose?" said Algernon, surveying me, as
I thought, rather contemptuously.

'"Of course," said I in an offended tone; "I keep all Oliver's.  But"
(my curiosity here becoming too much for my dignity) "I wish you
would tell me why."

'"I can't," replied Algernon, "for I don't quite know myself; but I
shall find out some day all about what they were saying.  I wish I
had heard it before; it has something to do with the reason you and I
were married,--that is quite clear."

'"When you are grown-up, you will understand, I suppose," said I.

'"O yes; long before that."

'"But it won't make any difference," said I decidedly.  "We can't be
unmarried again, however we may wish it, I know; for mamma told me
so."

'"Well, I didn't say I wished to be unmarried, did I?" demanded my
bridegroom not very graciously, and colouring very much as he spoke.

'"Oh no," I said, feeling guiltily conscious of what Agnes had told
me.  "And I daresay we shall like it very much when we are grown-up."

'"Of course," replied Algernon.  "And in the meantime it does not
much matter, because I don't suppose we shall see each other very
often."

'"Oliver thought you would come here and stay with us sometimes," I
remarked.  "He is always wishing for a boy of his own age for a
companion, because Miles and Roger are so little."

'"Ah!  I should like that," said Algernon, who evidently regarded a
brother-in-law as a much more interesting and valuable acquisition
than a wife.  "But Sir Harry told me a little while ago that he was
going to present me at court as soon as Parliament met, and that it
had already been settled that I should be appointed one of the
Duchess of York's pages."

'"Oh," said I, rather struck by this piece of intelligence.  "Shall
you like that? what will you have to do?"

'"I don't know exactly; but there are a great many pages--boys of my
own age; so it is sure to be better than New Court at any rate, where
there is no one at all to talk to when Agnes is away.  And she is
only a girl, after all."

'This remark was so exactly what Oliver would have made under similar
circumstances, that I did not feel offended, and only asked whether
Agnes always came to New Court in her holidays.

'"Yes; she has nowhere else to go.  Her father and mother are dead,
and Sir Harry is her guardian; and he promised her father that she
should never be made a Roman Catholic; so that is why he sends her to
school at Madame St. Aubert's.  You know"--and Algernon lowered his
voice to a mysterious whisper--"Lady Mountfort is a Papist, and she
is always trying to convert people."

'"And is Sir Harry one too?" inquired I in a tone of horror; for to
be a Papist in those days meant to belong to a religion proscribed by
Act of Parliament, and hated by all good Church of England people.

'"I don't know exactly," said Algernon, "but he always does whatever
she likes."

'Poor Sir Harry!  I pitied him from my heart; and wondered more than
ever how it happened that he should be the husband of such a
sour-faced, disagreeable dame as Lady Mountfort.

'"I daresay she would like to make a Papist of me," he continued;
"but she never shall; for my father was a Protestant, and I mean to
be just like him."

'I thought this resolution sounded heroic, especially as I believed
Lady Mountfort quite capable of inflicting a dungeon, bread and
water, and perhaps even the rack, upon any unfortunate person whom
she wished to convert; and I respected Algernon accordingly.  He and
I became very good friends before the evening was over, though I must
say I infinitely preferred my first friend, Sir Harry, who danced
with me several times--helped me out when I made mistakes, or
appeared not to observe them--called me "Madame la Countesse"--and
made himself so amusing, that I found myself many times regretfully
wishing that I could have been married to him instead of to Algernon.

'Ah! well.  People are not always quite so charming as one fancies
they are; and I never liked Sir Harry so well after I discovered that
it was he who brought about what I then considered as the greatest
misfortune that could happen to me.  He persuaded my father that I
ought to be sent to school.

'Dear me! what floods of tears I shed when this dreadful fact was
first announced to me.  It was after all our guests had gone--when
the gaieties of that exciting Christmas-time were over and done
with--when I was, to all intents and purposes, only little Frances
Dalrymple again, with all my short-lived splendour put away out of
sight, like that wedding gown which nurse had packed so carefully in
the great walnut chest, with dried lavender sprinkled between its
shining folds.

'To be sent to school!--till the way to Taunton!  I thought I might
almost as well be sent to prison at once; and said so, in the midst
of my tears, to mamma.

'"I shall never be allowed to run about, or play in the garden, or
ride!  Oh mamma, what will Hebe do without me?"

'Mamma almost smiled when I reached this climax, though she had
looked grave enough just before; and seeing the smile, I went on in a
more melancholy voice than ever:

'"Oh mamma, I didn't think _you_ wanted me to go away."

'"Frances, Frances, you don't know what you are talking of," said my
mother, taking me on her lap (great girl as I was), and holding me
very tight in her arms.  "Do you really suppose I shall not miss you
a great deal more than Hebe will?"

'"Then why do you let me go?" I whispered, after a good many more
tears at the idea of mamma thinking I cared more for Hebe than her.

'"Because your father thinks it best for you," was the answer--the
answer with which mamma used to silence us even in our most
rebellious moods.  No one ever thought of disobeying his commands;
and my hopes sank lower and lower.

'"But, mamma," I said despairingly, looking down at the little gold
ring I was so proud of being allowed to wear, "surely married ladies
don't go to school.  I thought they did whatever they liked."

"Indeed they don't always, even when they are grown-up, Frances," she
said with a little sigh.  "If I did exactly what I liked, I should
keep you at home with me, instead of sending you to school; but you
see I have to trust to some one else to know what is best for you,
and so must you.  Why, it is just because you are Lord Desmond's
wife, that your father thinks you ought to learn a great many things
that I cannot teach you properly.  If you were going to live down
here in the country all your life, perhaps it would not matter so
much; but when you are grown-up, you will most likely have to go out
a great deal more into the world, and mix with a great many more
people than I ever did; and you would find it very inconvenient to be
ignorant of things which every one else knows quite well.  For
instance, you would like to be able to sing and dance as well as
Agnes Blount."

'"I am sure I never could," I said, feeling as if Agnes's attainments
were far beyond me, but beginning to have some glimmering perception
of what mamma meant.

'"You must ask her to help you.  You are to go to the school where
she is now--Madame St. Aubert's.  So you see you have one friend
there already; and I have no doubt you will soon make many more.  So
cheer up, my foolish little Fan.  You look as woebegone as if you
were going to be sent to the Tower."

'Mamma's words were more cheerful than her face when she said this;
and, as she put me down from her knee with a kiss, I began to see
that the parting was as hard for her as it was for me; and I managed
to say, though not without a deep sigh:

'"I don't suppose they will be half such good playmates as Oliver and
the others; but I will try and bear it; and I will learn everything
as quickly as I can, that I may come back sooner."

'"That's my good child," said mamma, patting my head approvingly.
"And remember, there are always the holidays to look forward to.  How
you will enjoy them!"

'But the holidays seemed too far off for me to have much pleasure as
yet in looking forward to them; and I crept away, in extremely low
spirits, to tell Oliver of the fate that was in store for me.

'I need not tell minutely of all the days which followed before the
time of my departure arrived.  They seemed to me to be few enough,
and to fly past with a rapidity that was quite dreadful.  I spent
most of them in visiting all my favourite spots in the park and
garden--in saying good-bye to everybody, high and low, around
Horsemandown--and in giving Oliver minute directions as to the health
and treatment of my many pets.  I will leave you to imagine my
farewells, and take up my story six months after my arrival at that
dreaded school, where happened all the adventures which make my
history worth hearing.'



CHAPTER III.

LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY (CONTINUED).

_The Maids of Taunton._

Madame St. Aubert's young ladies were in the schoolroom one bright
June morning, putting away books, inkstands, samplers, etc., with
great energy and despatch; for both the clock of the old parish
church, and the sun-dial on the terrace walk beneath the schoolroom
windows, announced that morning lesson hours were over.  That hour of
freedom before dinner-time was always eagerly welcomed by us.  But it
had been longed for even more than usual this morning, for there was
something new to be talked over amongst us to-day,--something which,
in our opinion, was exciting and mysterious to a very high degree.
In the first place, Madame St. Aubert had been called out of the room
in the middle of a French lesson by one of the maids, and we were
sure that some extremely interesting piece of news must have been
imparted to her outside the door; for we could hear her exclamations
of surprise and (as we fancied) alarm quite distinctly at first,
though afterwards they sank into a much lower key.  Then a buzz of
voices was heard on the stairs: the quick, decided tones of our old
vicar, Dr. Power, and the rather shrill and plaintive ones of little
Monsieur Guillemard, from whom Madame St. Aubert's young ladies
learned the gavotte, coranto, and many other stiff, elaborate dances
that were fashionable at the court in those days.  This was not the
time for Monsieur Guillemard's lesson, nor was Dr. Power in the habit
of calling so early.  Something out of the common way must,
doubtless, have happened; and there were we, obliged to sit demurely
at our desks, with closed lips, only able to exchange eager glances
of curiosity, and listen with straining ears to the subdued murmur on
the staircase.  Pauline, Madame St. Aubert's daughter, and Mrs.
Fortescue, a lady next in command to Madame herself, were evidently
no less curious than we were; for the former opened her black eyes
very wide indeed, and arched her eyebrows significantly; while the
latter frowned, bit her lips, and took up the French lesson where
Madame had broken off, raising her voice meanwhile, and pretending
not to hear the buzz outside the door, though she could not help
casting from time to time an anxious glance in that direction.
Presently Madame St. Aubert came back, looking much flushed and
excited, but she only remarked to her daughter something about Dr.
Power having wished to wait upon her for a few moments; and then the
morning studies went on in their usual course, without further
interruption.  You will not wonder after this, that scarcely a third
of the usual time was spent in putting the schoolroom in order.  When
this task was accomplished at last, we poured out into the garden,
and settled down like a flock of sparrows on the soft turf under the
lime tree; for the sun was very hot that morning, and the pleasantest
spot in the garden was beneath the shade of those widely-spreading,
pale green branches.  A most unusual thing it was to have anything
approaching to an event about which to puzzle our curious brains; for
time used to go on very monotonously at Madame St.
Aubert's,--monotonously, but at the same time not in the least slowly
or heavily.  There were too many of us, and we were too busy all day
to be dull.  Nevertheless, we were quite ready to catch at any fresh
little piece of excitement that chanced to break in upon the sameness
of the day.  So there we sat, under the lime tree, and discussed the
mystery, as we called it, of the morning.  But though we chattered to
our hearts' content, no conclusion could be reached concerning it.
There was something against every suggestion offered.  Agnes Blount
thought that Madame must have heard of the death of some of her
French relations; but if so, why should she only look excited and
startled--not in the least melancholy or tearful?  And Madames' tears
were well known to be ready, and abundant, too, on the smallest
possible occasion.  Lucy Fordyce was of opinion that she might have
lost some large sum of money,--perhaps all her fortune,--and that Dr.
Power had come to break the news to her.  There was the same
objection, however, to this as to Agnes's idea about the French
relations.  Besides, Monsieur Guillemard was not a likely person to
bring tidings of such a misfortune.  Bessie Davenant was sure that
the King must be dead; but this notion was instantly scouted as more
improbable than any, for Madame would of course have proclaimed that
piece of news on the spot, and ordered us to impress the date of such
an important historical fact on our minds, as she had done when King
Charles died, four months since--February 6th 1685.  I never forgot
that date to the last day of my life.  How I longed to prompt Robin
when Miss Gregory asked him one day on the stairs to tell her when
King Charles II. died, and he couldn't answer!  Well! we were still
making conjectures, each one more wild and improbable than the last,
when Pauline St. Aubert was seen tripping down the steps of the
terrace.  Now, Pauline was a great favourite among her pupils,
especially the elder girls, some of whom were but little younger than
herself; and as she was the very essence of good nature, and had
never been known to keep a secret for more than half an hour at the
utmost, we no sooner caught sight of her trim, graceful little figure
approaching the lime tree, than we felt sure that the news, whatever
it might be, was already ours.

'"Pauline!  Pauline!  The person above all others that we wanted!"
cried Bessie Davenant, one of the bosom friends who were allowed to
call Mademoiselle St. Aubert by her Christian name.  Only three of us
enjoyed that privilege, and these were Henrietta Sidney, Bessie
Davenant, and Eleanor Page.  We younger ones only ventured upon
"Mademoiselle!"  In a moment we were all upon our feet and gathered
round Pauline; but, to our dismay, she had nothing to tell us, after
all.  Not that she had been seized with a sudden fit of discretion,
but she was evidently perfectly ignorant of the matter, and quite as
curious and as much perplexed about it as we were ourselves.

'"Indeed I am not a whit wiser than the rest of you," she said,
laughing.  "Mamma has not taken me into her confidence, I assure you.
I did just venture to ask her whether it was ill news that had
brought Dr. Power so early in the day, but she only chid me for being
curious about what was no business of mine, and said that Dr. Power
had come to take counsel with her on some matter that needed not my
help."

'"How very strange!" cried Bessie, much aggrieved and disappointed.
"But something is going on, Pauline.  There can be no doubt about
that, and I shall never rest till we have found out what it is."

'"Something!  Yes, indeed!" echoed Pauline.  "Do you know there is a
strange man closeted in the little north parlour with mamma and Dr.
Power?  The door was ajar when I passed, and I saw him--a little,
dark man, with a soldier-like bearing, I thought; but I had not time
to see much, for he scowled at me quite savagely, and shut the door
in a moment."

'There was a chorus of exclamations at this adventure of Pauline's.
A little, dark man!--a stranger!--and soldier-like in bearing!--who
shut the door with a ferocious scowl!  This was a charming addition
to our mystery; and Pauline was questioned and cross-questioned to a
degree that no one else could have borne without losing patience.
But she only laughed and shook her head, declaring that she had told
us all she knew, and (she feared) a great deal more than she ought.

'"Oh! mamma was right," she said, throwing herself lazily on to the
turf seat that went round the lime tree.  "She knows that a secret is
as sure to come out, if I have the keeping of it, as sand out of a
sieve.  But, oh! you are all so terribly curious, and I am such a
'bavarde.'  Ah! well, never mind.  We shall hear all about it in
time, doubtless.  Oh Frances, what a rent in your ruffle!  What will
Mrs. Fortescue say if she finds it out?"

'Pauline's words made me colour, and look down rather disconsolately
at the ruffle in question, for I knew well enough what Mrs. Fortescue
would say.  Her commands, as we were leaving the schoolroom, had
been, that Lady Desmond should not appear before her eyes again until
that ruffle was mended; and Mrs. Fortescue's commands were not to be
lightly treated.  We stood in far more awe of her than of Madame St.
Aubert herself; and I had not the least doubt that, if the
dinner-bell rang before her orders were obeyed, I should be condemned
to solitary banishment in the schoolroom while the other girls were
enjoying their walk in the cool of the evening.

'"Poor child!  How woeful she looks!" cried Bessie Davenant
compassionately.  "Never mind, Frances, I'll come and help you.
There is time before dinner, if we run in at once, trusting to good
luck not to meet Mrs. Fortescue by the way;" and Bessie, whose course
of action was always prompt and decided, on account of her never
waiting to think about anything, caught my hand, and we sped together
across the lawn, and along the sunny terrace walk into the house,
never pausing till we sank panting upon a bench in the schoolroom.
We had sat there for a moment in silence, to recover our breath, when
the sound of Mrs. Fortescue's voice made me give a guilty start, and
glance at Bessie in alarm.  The door was ajar of a little ante-room
which opened into the schoolroom ("Madame's own closet," we used to
call it), and Madame St. Aubert was there now.  We could hear her
voice, though we could not catch the words; but Mrs. Fortescue's was
not pitched in so low a key.

'"The Duke of Monmouth!" we heard her exclaim, "will set foot, do you
say, on English ground in two days?  Then God save him, poor youth,
and help him to his own rightful kingdom.  But what a fearful
struggle..."

'Bessie and I had been staring at one another for the last few
moments in motionless surprise; but here, by mutual consent, we rose,
and were about to slip quietly back to the door by which we had
entered, when another voice cut short Mrs. Fortescue's speech, and
brought us for an instant to a sudden standstill.  This was a man's
voice, and a very harsh and unrefined one, too, which certainly
belonged to none of the few men whom Madame St. Aubert was wont to
admit to her house.

'"Pardon, Madame," it said rather gruffly, "but I must pray you to be
somewhat less loud.  Remember whose life and fortune is at stake.
This is no child's play, Madame, let me tell you!"

'At this juncture I pulled Bessie's dress, and, while the colour
rushed into her face, she turned, and we stole softly from the room.
I do not think either of us breathed freely till we found ourselves
again in the garden, and safe from view in a shady, winding path,
through a tangled confusion of shrubs and trees, which went by the
name of "The Wilderness."  As for myself, I had scarcely yet realized
what a secret it was that we two had found out,--what those words
meant that had come to our ears during the few moments when,
astonished and taken aback, we paused and listened to what we had no
right to hear.  But their significance was clear enough to Bessie,
for she had lived five years longer in the world than I had, and was
a little more learned in the news of the day.

'"Oh Frances!" she exclaimed, looking half frightened, half
triumphant, "what have we done!  What would Madame say if she knew
what we have heard?  But oh! to think that the mystery should prove
to be this.  What glorious news!  Oh, if I were only a man, to be
with him!  Alack! alack!" and Bessie leaned against an apple tree,
and vented her excitement in a tremendous sigh.

'"But, Bessie, why?  Do tell me.  I didn't quite understand," I
cried, feeling eager and excited too in a high degree, and quite
ready to be as enthusiastic as Bessie herself--only, somewhat
bewildered as to who was going to set foot on English ground, and why
there should be such a commotion about him.

'"Hush! who is that?" said Bessie with a start, at the sound of
approaching footsteps; and, even as she spoke, Henrietta Sidney came
in sight, sauntering up the shady path.

'"Well, Frances, is the ruffle mended already?" she began, but
stopped short at the sight of Bessie's flushed cheeks and sparkling
eyes.  "Something is the matter," she remarked at length, in her
gentle, composed, perhaps rather languid way.

'"Oh Henrietta!" exclaimed Bessie, springing forward and seizing both
her hands; "if it is only you, I don't care.  Yes, indeed, something
is the matter.  Such glorious tidings!  The secret is out.  And what
do you think?  The Duke of Monmouth is going to land in two days and
claim his crown; and we shall have another civil war, to a certainty!
There is that strange man that Pauline spoke of; but now, instead of
the north parlour, he is in Madame's closet, talking to her and Mrs.
Fortescue.  Why he should come to tell them, I cannot imagine----"

'"But, Bessie, do stop one moment," interrupted Henrietta
imploringly, "is this really true?  And how did you find it out?
This mysterious man did not surely confide all this to you and
Frances!"

'"Oh no, no; they never meant us to hear it, of course."  And Bessie
and I hereupon poured out an explanation of how we had chanced to
learn this wonderful piece of intelligence.  Henrietta made no
comment as she listened, but her face grew thoughtful and troubled.
She evidently did not look at the affair quite in the same light that
Bessie did.

'"And now, Henrietta," I began eagerly, when we had finished our
story, "I want to know what they meant about the Duke of Monmouth,
and why he is coming to England."

'"Hush!" she said in a tone that, for her, was almost sharp.  And I
was silenced directly; for, in spite of Henrietta's indolent, gentle
manner, there was something about her now and then that made me feel
slightly afraid of her.  In fact I think that all the girls had a
great respect for her judgment, though she was rather cold and shy,
and by no means such a favourite among them as Bessie, or Pauline St.
Aubert.

'"Indeed, Frances," she said earnestly, "you must not speak of this
to any one else.  You ought not to have told me.  I wish, with all my
heart, that we all knew as little of it now as we did half an hour
ago."

'"But why?" asked Bessie, looking both crestfallen and alarmed at
this view of the matter; for her excitement was a good deal damped by
Henrietta's anxious tone and serious face.

'"Oh Bessie, don't you see?  In the first place, you had no right to
hear this, much less to tell me about it; and I cannot help feeling
as if we were doing something dishonourable and underhand in knowing
it at all.  Besides, as the man himself said, this is no child's
play.  It seems to me that it must be a really weighty secret, which
may bring Madame St. Aubert, and perhaps even us, into trouble some
day."

'"Nonsense!" Bessie broke in impatiently; "you always were so
discreet and cautious, Henrietta.  'Tis a marvel to me how you can
talk in such a cold, selfish, heartless way.  Why, even if it were to
bring us into trouble--which is not likely at all--I should be proud
to go through a little danger for such a cause."

'"Such a cause!" repeated Henrietta, with a slightly sarcastic smile.
"Well, I don't know," she continued relapsing into her peculiarly
low, deliberate tone; "but even if the cause were a right one, I
should think another civil war would do more harm than good.  My
father has often told me stories about the last, and what he and my
grandmother used to go through; and I do not want another to come in
my time.  No, Bessie, I call your tidings anything but glorious."

'"My dear Henrietta, I do not believe there will be a civil war at
all.  Depend upon it, all the country will flock to join the Duke of
Monmouth.  He is so much more popular than the King; and he is brave
and handsome, and his manners are so gracious.  Besides, he is going
to defend the Protestant religion; and it is a well-known thing that
King James wants to turn us all into Papists, and make bonfires of
every body, just as cruel Queen Mary did."

'Henrietta knitted her forehead, in order, I suppose, the better to
ponder the subject; and slowly plucked to pieces, leaf by leaf, a
York and Lancaster rose that she wore in her sash.

'"I suppose," she said at length, with a little sigh, as she raised
her head, "that, in truth, neither of us knows much about the matter.
We only think as we have been taught to think at home.  All I know
is, what my father used to say about the Duke of Monmouth,--that he
has no right to the throne whatever, and that, even if he were to get
it, he has not wit enough to keep it; and also, that he is a bad,
unprincipled man, who cares as little for the Protestant faith as for
any other."

'"Then your father judges him very harshly and untruly, and can know
nothing about him," cried Bessie, firing up in high indignation.  "My
uncle is his great friend, and I have often heard him say that the
Duke of Monmouth is a stanch Protestant, and a man of honour, and far
more noble and princely than the King."

'To this Henrietta made no reply, and at first I thought she was
offended, and going off wrathfully without another word, for she
turned away and moved a few steps up the shrubbery; then, after a
moment's hesitation, she came back and laid her hand upon Bessie's
arm.

'"Listen to me, Bess.  I don't wish to quarrel about the Duke of
Monmouth or anybody else; but in this we shall agree, I warrant:
Madame St. Aubert ought to be told that we have found out this secret
of hers.  I am heartily sorry that you chanced to overhear it; but,
since we have discovered it, and in this way too (which is a somewhat
crooked one, I must say), I think the only straightforward thing to
do is to go at once and tell her simply what we know, and how we knew
it."

'Bessie opened her eyes very wide, and turned them with a quick,
startled look upon Henrietta.  "Well, I am ready," she said, the next
moment, making up her mind, as usual, without the smallest
hesitation.  "You are quite right, Henrietta.  It is but fair that
Madame should know.  It was shameful in me not to have spoken to her
at the time.  Come, Frances, we will go to her at once, and tell her
that the Duke of Monmouth's secret is safe, at least as far as you
and I are concerned;" and Bessie drew up her head proudly, and,
throwing her arm round my waist, marched majestically through The
Wilderness with a sort of defiant air, as if prepared to undertake
the Duke of Monmouth's defence against his enemies in general, and
Henrietta in particular.  I, for my part, stepped along by Bessie's
side, trying to look equally fearless and defiant, and feeling ready
to stand by her through thick and thin; for we two were great
friends, notwithstanding the five years' difference in our ages.  As
to the right or wrong of the question, I did not bestow a thought
upon that, my ideas upon politics being vague to the last degree.  I
suppose no child in the kingdom, at that time, knew less about the
events taking place in it than I did.  I had seldom or never heard
political subjects discussed at home, for mamma certainly hardly ever
talked of them, and, I fancy, thought very little about them either;
and even when my father was at Horsemandown, I saw so little of him
or his friends that I had not the remotest notion as to what his
opinions were.  However, I was fond of Bessie, and Bessie believed in
the Duke of Monmouth,--and that was enough for me; so I made up my
mind to believe in him too.  Nevertheless, I could not quite get rid
of the impression which Henrietta's words had made.  She had never
been in the habit of taking much notice of me, or indeed of any of
the younger girls; and we used to laugh at her languid, sleepy
manner, and declare that Henrietta had no feelings--that the shock of
an earthquake, or news that the great plague had broken out again in
Taunton, would scarcely make her take the trouble of lifting her eyes
from her book, or rising from her chair.  I daresay she was quite
aware of these jokes of ours, and that they did not help to make her
less cold and indifferent towards us; but, for all this, one of
Henrietta's quiet, lazily spoken remarks had often more weight with
us than the most decided and strongly expressed opinions of the other
girls.  I looked back at her as she walked behind Bessie and me up
the shrubbery.  She was grave, and rather white, and though she had
urged us to make this confession to Madame St. Aubert, I saw that she
was going with intense reluctance, and entirely because she
considered it a matter of honour and duty.

'"Are they still there?" whispered Bessie as we opened the schoolroom
door and looked anxiously in the direction of Madame's closet.  Yes!
there they were still, without doubt; but the door was no longer
ajar, and only an indistinct murmur of voices was audible from
within.  But as we lingered, hesitating what step next to take, the
ante-room door opened, and Madame St. Aubert came forth, followed by
Mrs. Fortescue and the stranger, whom Pauline had justly described as
"a little, dark man, with a soldier-like bearing."  Soldier-like it
certainly was, but not the bearing of a gentleman.  Indeed there was
something about him which struck me, at the first glance, as low,
unrefined, and decidedly disagreeable.

'Madame stopped short at the sight of us, for it was most unusual to
find any of the girls in the school-room at that hour; and she looked
considerably taken aback, and by no means pleased.  As for the
stranger, after staring at us for a moment in a most cool, insolent
way, he turned, with a frown, to Madame St. Aubert, saying: "It seems
to me, Madame, that one may scarce hope for privacy in your house for
more than ten minutes at a time.  And, pray, who may those young
gentlewomen be?"

'There was something so peremptory and familiar in his way of
speaking, that all three of the said young gentlewomen felt
inexpressibly ruffled and indignant; but Henrietta's cheeks were
burning, and I never had imagined before that her large, sleepy, grey
eyes could look so absolutely fierce as they did for a moment just
then.

'"Girls, what are you doing here at this hour?  Why are you not in
the garden with the rest?" asked Madame St. Aubert, without answering
the strange man's question.  She glanced at us sharply, and somewhat
suspiciously, as if the idea had entered her mind that we might
possibly have been listening to the conversation in the ante-room.
There was a minute's silence, while Madame, annoyed and impatient,
stood waiting for an answer.

'What a privilege I felt it then to be the youngest of the party!  I
drew back as far behind the others as I could, and twitched Bessie's
dress.  But though, as I said before, Bessie never stayed to think
twice ere she set about an undertaking, she was not always quite so
prompt in finishing it.  Now and then things would suddenly prove too
much for her, and she would break down helplessly before her schemes
could be carried out.  Now I pulled her dress without producing the
slightest effect.  It was clear that, if Madame St. Aubert was to be
told of our discovery at all, Henrietta must be the person to do it.
So, seeing that there was no help for it, she came forward, and
speaking, evidently with a great effort, and in a rather husky voice,
she gave a very short, but very clear, explanation of how matters
stood.  Meanwhile Madame St. Aubert looked every moment more and more
perplexed and angry, and the mysterious man bit his lip and growled
wrathfully to himself.  I thought his ejaculations sounded uncommonly
like oaths, only they were, fortunately, somewhat indistinct.

'"I warned you how it would be, Madame," said he bluntly, nodding
with a sarcastic smile towards Mrs Fortescue, when Henrietta had
finished her story.  "You lack discretion, Madame--discretion--like
most women.  I crave pardon, but I cannot but say so.  What with loud
speaking, and doors left ajar, here are three babbling children
acquainted with a matter which you solemnly promised should be kept
strictly secret."

[Illustration: 'YOU LACK DISCRETION, MADAME--DISCRETION--LIKE MOST
WOMEN.']

'Poor Madame St. Aubert looked round distractedly.  It was plain that
she was very angry, and wished to pour forth her anger upon somebody,
but could not make up her mind whether it should fall upon the head
of this extremely plain-spoken gentleman, Mrs. Fortescue, or "those
three babbling girls," her pupils.

'Mrs. Fortescue, however, though she might know herself in the wrong,
was not a person to be easily browbeaten.  "Very well, Colonel Dare,"
quoth she with severity; "and, craving your pardon, I must needs say
that your courtesy is as scant as you deem our discretion.  You would
do well, sir, to learn something of chivalry from his Grace of
Monmouth.  He would not speak to the wife of one of his troopers in
such a tone as you have used to us."

'This reproof seemed considerably to abash Colonel Dare; for his face
grew very red--indeed I may almost say purple--and he muttered, in a
stammering, confused kind of way, something about being a rough,
honest soldier--not used to ladies' presence, and never thinking to
give offence--only, somewhat hot in his zeal for the great cause;
which excuses appeared in some degree to appease Mrs. Fortescue's
wrath, and Madame's perplexity and distress.  They evidently both
wished to be on good terms with this odd, churlish, little Colonel
Dare--Madame St. Aubert especially.

'"Come, come, Monsieur," she said, with a graceful little wave of the
hand, "you have said quite enough.  You have made 'l'amende
honorable.'  I have no doubt that Mrs. Fortescue is satisfied, and
that we all understand one another perfectly.  But now let me intreat
you to set your mind at rest.  I can assure you that these young
ladies will not betray us.  Is it not so, mes petites?  You will give
me each your word of honour to say nothing of this news that you have
heard, until you have my permission.  It can be but two or three days
more before it will be known to the whole kingdom."

'"With all my heart, Madame," Bessie cried, springing forward in her
impetuous way, her pretty bright face glowing with eagerness and
enthusiasm.  "There is nothing I would wish for more than to serve
the Duke; and I would rather die a thousand deaths than say a word
which could harm him!"

'"Ah! bravo! bravo! young mistress," exclaimed Colonel Dare, who had
been surveying Bessie with a curious, critical gaze for some moments.
"I see you are one of us.  We have no fear of you.  But this little
lady here, what has she to say for herself?" and he glanced
doubtfully from me to Madame St. Aubert.

'"I think she may be trusted," Madame said, smiling a little, and
holding out her hand to me.  "When one is already a wife, one ought
to be discreet enough to keep a secret; eh, Frances?  Yes, I think we
may trust Lady Desmond!"

'These words made me altogether forget my shyness and my fright, and
I ran to Madame St. Aubert's side, exclaiming as enthusiastically as
Bessie herself: "Oh yes; indeed, Madame, you may trust me; and I
would do anything to serve the Duke of Monmouth too, if I could--just
as much as Bessie would."  They all began to laugh at this speech
(except Henrietta)--even the sour-looking Colonel Dare, which rather
hurt my feelings, for I was quite in earnest, and really began to
feel myself a loyal and devoted follower of the Duke of Monmouth,
though, until the last hour, I had scarcely heard more of him than
his name.

'"And Henrietta?" asked Madame St. Aubert gently, though at the same
time with a shade of uneasiness in her tone--"But I scarce need call
for your promise.  You are no babbler, as we all surely know."

'Henrietta, however, made no answer.  She had stood for the last few
minutes with eyes fixed absently on the window, seeming to take no
notice whatever of anything that was passing.  Her mouth twitched
nervously, and she was knitting her brows, as if trying to think out
something that both puzzled and worried her a good deal.

'"Well, Henrietta?" demanded Mrs. Fortescue impatiently.

'"You will give us your word," said Madame, with her most persuasive
smile; and then Henrietta roused herself with a little sigh, and gave
the promise required, repeating Madame St. Aubert's own words: "Yes,
Madame, I give you my word of honour to say nothing of this matter,
until I have your permission."

'There was so much effort and reluctance in her tone as she said
this, that Colonel Dare's fierce little black eyes were turned upon
her with a distrustful glance.  "If you follow my counsel, Madame,"
said he, "you will request young mistress here to give that pledge
again with her hand upon the Bible."

'Once more Henrietta's face lighted up with indignation.  "I have
given my promise already, sir," she said proudly.  "May I go,
Madame?" and scarcely waiting for Madame St. Aubert's nod of assent,
she made her courtesy and left the room.

'"Ah! never fear.  She is safe enough," said Madame reassuringly.
"Henrietta's promise is as good as an oath."

'A doubtful "Humph!" was Colonel Dare's only reply; after which came
the abrupt question: "Pray, who is she?"

'"One of the Gloucestershire Sidneys.  A daughter of Mr. Sidney of
Nettlewood."

'"James Sidney of Nettlewood!" Colonel Dare scowled more disagreeably
than ever as he repeated this name.  "That speaks for itself.  The
Duke and he have but little love lost between them.  I suppose that
proud, sullen-looking damsel of his is not likely to have any
intercourse with her father just now?"

'Madame St. Aubert again assured him of Henrietta's trustworthiness,
and then went on to explain all about the family and connections of
Bessie and myself.  I was astonished to find how much he had already
heard of me and my history.  Indeed he seemed, I thought, to know
quite as much, if not more than I did myself, of my father, Sir Harry
Mountfort, and my young husband, Lord Desmond.  At Sir Harry's name,
both he and Madame St. Aubert shook their heads ominously.  "No hope
of him--not a jot," they pronounced.  "Hand and glove with the King;
and the young Earl Desmond a minor, and of course wholly under his
guardian's influence for the present."  But of my father they spoke
far less despondingly.  Why, I could not imagine; for, as I remarked
before, I had not the smallest idea of what his political opinions
might be.  Colonel Dare, however, seemed to have some reason for
thinking that my father was inclined to favour the Duke of Monmouth's
claims; and he made one or two attempts to find out whether I had
ever heard anything let fall by him upon the subject; but discovering
in a very little while how utterly ignorant I was, he ceased
questioning me, and turned to Bessie, who was ready enough to answer
anything that he chose to ask.  She had been brought up by her uncle,
Sir Geoffrey Davenant, a Somersetshire knight, living not many miles
from Taunton; and it was in his house that she had learned her ardent
devotion to the Duke of Monmouth.  Sir Geoffrey's political
principles were apparently as well known to the shrewd Colonel Dare
as those of Henrietta's father and mine; and he seemed very well
satisfied with what he drew from Bessie concerning her uncle and her
uncle's friends.

'"If I should chance to see Sir Geoffrey before many days are out, I
shall tell him that his kinswoman's heart is with us," was Colonel
Dare's parting speech to Bessie when Madame St. Aubert at last
dismissed us.  "Oh, if I were only as rich as Henrietta, or Eleanor
Page!"  So exclaimed Bessie, as we ran up-stairs into the great
bed-chamber where the six elder girls slept.  None of them were there
at present; and Bessie sat down upon her own bed, with one arm thrown
round me, sighing out again, "If I was but as rich as Henrietta!"

'"Why do you want to be rich, Bessie?  Do you want money so much just
now?"

'"How can you ask, child?  That I may give it all to him, to be sure."

'"To that Colonel Dare?"

'"No, no.  To the Duke, of course.  But Colonel Dare would take it to
him."

'"Bessie!  To the Duke!  But what does he want it for?  Besides,
hasn't he plenty of money of his own?"

"Oh Frances, you are such a child!  How is he to raise soldiers
without money?  He must feed his army, and buy arms and horses and
everything; and from what I have heard my uncle say, I suspect he has
by no means more money than he wants, especially for such an
enterprise as this.  I should not wonder if that was what that
gentleman wanted of Madame St. Aubert.  She has a very good fortune,
I know."

'These were quite new ideas to me, and rather surprising ones too;
for, never having studied the subject deeply, I had always held a
kind of vague belief that dukes, as a matter of course, had gold and
silver to any amount they chose; while the fact that armies must eat,
and that soldiers must be paid for fighting, had somehow never struck
me before.

'"Frances, have you any money?" Bessie asked, rising suddenly, and
opening a chest by the bedside.  "Look!  This is all I have left: not
much, but it shall go to him.  I know my uncle would give me more if
I were really in need of it."

'She turned out the contents of a little Spanish leather purse upon
the bed.  There were three golden guineas, a crown piece, and a few
small silver coins.  It certainly did not look a very magnificent sum
as it lay spread out upon the quilt; nor did my contribution make it
much more imposing, for my whole store was but one double guinea
piece, which I had meant to spend on presents for the boys, to be
given when I went home at Christmas.  But now I was fast catching
Bessie's zeal.  Who could think of Christmas presents in comparison
with a great cause like this?  I felt quite sure that Oliver would
enter into my view of the case, if he could be consulted; so I laid
my gold piece beside Bessie's, and we looked at them for a few
minutes in solemn silence, which I was the first to interrupt.

'"I suppose Henrietta would not help us?"

'"Not she, forsooth!" said Bessie, with a contemptuous curl of the
lip.  "Nothing would induce me to ask her.  But if we tarry so long,
Colonel Dare will be gone.  Many thanks to you, sweetheart, for what
you have given;" and gathering up the little heap, Bessie put it into
the purse, and tripped down-stairs with all possible speed.  I leaned
over the balustrade, and watched her as she met Madame St. Aubert and
her visitor outside the study door, and I saw her blush and smile as
he took the purse and raised her hand to his lips.  Colonel Dare took
his departure hastily, for all the girls from the garden were
beginning to pour in, and the great bell was ringing for dinner.

* * * * *

'Three days had passed by, and Bessie, Henrietta, and I still kept
our secret.  I thought them rather pleasant days myself, for I was
extremely proud of the important piece of knowledge which Madame St.
Aubert had been involuntarily obliged to leave in my keeping.  But I
do not know that the two others wholly shared this opinion.
Certainly Henrietta did not.  She looked more and more grave and
oppressed, and never spoke of the subject to either of us; while
Bessie was in such a fever of expectation that it was all she could
do to keep up her self-command before the other girls.  Whenever we
could manage it, she and I used to get alone together, and talk about
the only subject that now had any interest for us.  When should we
hear the news of Monmouth's landing? would he be likely to march near
Taunton? and would Bessie's uncle, Sir Geoffrey Davenant, take up
arms in his behalf?  These were the questions which we asked
ourselves at least a dozen times a day; and I drank in Bessie's
doctrines without a thought of disputing them, till I was becoming
heart and soul as rebellious a little subject of King James as she
was herself.  I should probably have found it much harder to keep my
lips sealed to the rest of the household, if there had been no Bessie
with whom to chatter freely about the secret; and I have no doubt I
was equally useful to her in enabling her to give a vent to her
feelings.

'We two had always been friends from that first dismal winter's night
when I first arrived at Madame St. Aubert's, a tearful, disconsolate
little bride, tired out with the long, cold journey, and most unhappy
at leaving--not the husband whom I had known for a day, but home,
mamma, and my brothers; not to mention all the animals, that I cared
for only next to them.  Yes, that was a very miserable night to me;
and I must confess that what added a sharp sting to my grief was the
feeling of intense mortification at having to come down from the
dignified position which I had held of late and so thoroughly
enjoyed.  A few days ago I was the most important person in the
house,--treated with all the honour and attention due to a bride, and
almost as if I were a woman; and now, here I was, only a little girl
again, at school among strangers, and conscious of being younger and
smaller than most of my companions, and not equal to any of them in
good manners and accomplishments.  How kind Bessie was to me that
night!  It was her bright winning manner and good-natured words that
first began to set me at ease; and during my early school-days,
whenever a home-sick fit of crying came over me, I always went to
Bessie to be petted and comforted.  That intense home-sickness had
been over now for a long time.  To be sure, I looked forward eagerly
to the next Christmas, when I was to be at Horsemandown once more;
but I had grown used to the routine of Madame St. Aubert's house by
this time, and found myself much happier at school than I could once
have imagined possible.  Mrs. Fortescue was sharp and severe,
sometimes, it is true; but Madame St. Aubert was, in general,
remarkably kind to her pupils,--far more gentle and indulgent than
most governesses of those days were wont to be.  I did not dislike
the studies either; though I must say we were somewhat hardly worked,
and spent a great deal more time over them than would be considered
wholesome in a schoolroom of the present time,--in the Horsemandown
schoolroom, at all events.  The learning to dance, to speak French,
and to play upon the harp and virginals, was what I liked best; and I
soon began to get on very well in those accomplishments--especially
the music and dancing--and to discover that Agnes Blount's skill in
them might not be so hopelessly beyond my reach, after all.  My
schoolfellows, too, I liked very much on the whole; and I think that
on their part they had rather a respect for me--especially those of
my own age--on account of my being, child as I was, already a wife,
and wife to the Earl of Desmond.  It seemed strange, even then, that
among the pupils should be numbered a bride, and that she should be
one of the youngest of all; but still not half so strange as if it
were nowadays; for, according to a very common custom in those times,
several of the girls were betrothed, and one or two of them had been
so from babyhood.  Well, but to continue my story.  For three days,
as I said, we had kept our secret.  The excitement of the girls about
Madame's "mystery," as they chose to call it, was beginning to go
off.  In fact it was fast fading away, in the interest of a scheme,
started by Pauline, for getting up a little French masque, to be
acted on her mother's birthday, or, as Pauline called it, her "fête."
One morning, however, it happened that, although when Madame St.
Aubert's fourteen young ladies sat down to breakfast the projected
masque was uppermost in the minds of eleven of them, yet before their
basins of milk were empty it had gone out of their heads altogether;
and this was the reason: "Dr. Power begs permission to wait upon you,
Madame," was a message that made every one look up in surprise.
Half-past six was so very early for Dr. Power, who was celebrated for
his late rising.  Madame St. Aubert rose hurriedly from her chair,
but before she could leave the table the Doctor himself peered in at
the open door.

'"Too anxious to announce my news to await your summons, Madame,"
said he, with an apologetic bow so profound that his flowing wig
almost swept the floor.  "Ladies, you must pardon me for this
intrusion; but when I tell you that the Duke of Monmouth has landed
at Lyme----"

'"Landed at Lyme!" cried Madame St. Aubert, exultingly echoed by Mrs.
Fortescue and Bessie.

'"The Duke of Monmouth!" repeated Pauline in tones of astonishment,
while the young ladies all put down their spoons and opened their
eyes; and murmurs of "Oh!" "Who?" "Where?" "What for?" ran round the
table.

"Yes, landed yesterday morning at Lyme," Dr. Power proceeded, after a
loud and violent fit of coughing, which seemed much to exasperate
Bessie.  "I only heard the news this morning.  They say he was at the
head of more than a thousand men last night, and by this time, I
warrant me, all Dorsetshire and Devonshire will have joined him.  It
was Dare who sent me word.  He left this place at two o'clock this
morning, with a troop of forty horsemen behind him; thanks to your
liberality, Madame."  (Here Bessie glanced at me significantly.)
"'Tis only a handful, to be sure," continued Dr. Power, "but he'll
pick up more on the road.  There's a piece of news for you, young
ladies!" he rattled on, rubbing his hands and nodding triumphantly;
"and a piece of news for King James too (not that he will be king
much longer).  Ah, I should like to know what _he_ thinks of the
business!"

'"Well, but, Dr. Power," cried Madame at last impatiently, for she
had already made two vain attempts to strike in, and would not have
managed to do so now had not Dr. Power's breath at last given way
altogether,--"tell us some more details.  How was he received in the
place?  Was there no opposition made to his landing?"

'"Opposition?  None whatever.  He was received most enthusiastically.
The whole town was ringing with shouts of 'A Monmouth!  A Monmouth!
God save Monmouth and the Protestant religion!'  Then up went his
blue flag in the market-place, and his Declaration was read from the
town-cross."

'At this point Bessie could not resist clapping her hands, and was
even heard to utter a smothered "Hurrah."

'"And he proclaimed himself King?" asked Mrs. Fortescue.

'"No, no; not yet.  He is prudent enough to put that off for a bit.
He declares that his right to the throne shall be decided by a free
Parliament; but he denounces his uncle for a tyrant, usurper,
murderer, and I know not what beside.  (Somewhat too strong in
language this Declaration must be, to my thinking.)  Well, and then
he claims to be champion and leader of all English Protestants."

'"And so he is, without doubt," cried Madame St. Aubert, clasping her
hands vehemently.  "He will save us all from being made Papists,
whether we will or no, or perchance burned alive at Smithfield.  Ah
yes!  Mark my words, Dr. Power.  He is the only man to save England,
and all England will soon rise in arms to join him.  God bless him, I
say, and confound his enemies!  Long live the Duke of Monmouth!"

'Madame's agitation at this juncture became too much for her.  She
sank suddenly into the nearest seat, and buried her face in her
handkerchief.  She was an excitable person always, Madame St. Aubert;
but never before had she been seen by her pupils wrought up to such a
state of uncontrollable excitement as this; and never before had our
silent, formal breakfast been enlivened by such a commotion.  There
stood all the girls huddled together, surprised, embarrassed,
curious, and some half frightened.  There was my bowl of milk upset,
and streaming quietly over the table-cloth, with Mrs. Fortescue
actually taking not the smallest notice of it; there was Dr. Power
with his wig more crooked than I could ever have conceived possible
if I had not seen it; and, what seemed stranger to us than anything
else, there was Madame St. Aubert perched on one of our narrow,
long-legged, and most uncomfortable stools, instead of her own chair
of state, and almost tumbling off, from the vehemence of her
hysterical sobs.

'"What does it all mean?  Is there going to be a civil war?"
whispered Agnes Blount to Bessie, who was in far too much of a
flutter either to hear or heed.

'"But does the King really want to burn us?  Alack! alack!  I will
never be made a Papist," protested little Lucy Fordyce, her brown
eyes round with horror.

'"I wonder if Madame will give us a holiday," suggested Camilla
Fanshawe with great animation; and even as she spoke I heard Dr.
Power making that self-same proposal to Madame St. Aubert, who was
beginning to recover a little, the high stool not being a favourable
place for giving way to "attendrissement."

'"Yes," she said, after drying her eyes and going back to her state
chair.  Yes, that was just what she had been about to announce.  Who
could be expected to attend to study after such a piece of news as
this?  Therefore she proclaimed a whole holiday, in honour of the day
which, she hoped, we never would forget to the latest hour of our
lives.

'"And now I wonder whether these young ladies know what it is that
they are to keep in mind till the latest day of their lives," said
Dr. Power, looking round upon us with his jovial, good-humoured
smile.  "This little maid, for instance," as his eye fell upon Lucy
Fordyce's beaming face.  "Come hither, child, and tell us all about
it."

'But Lucy's ideas upon the subject were evidently misty in the
extreme.  She looked terribly puzzled and piteous; and I have no
doubt that it was only a strong faith in the promised holiday that
kept the tears out of her eyes.  "Because--why, because," she
stammered in answer to Dr. Power's question.

'"Why does Madame St. Aubert wish you to remember to-day?" repeated
the Doctor.

'We are to have a holiday because the Duke of Monmouth----' and here
Lucy came to a dead stop, being utterly at a loss to know what it was
exactly that the Duke of Monmouth had been doing.

'"He came over from Holland on purpose to ask for a holiday, eh?"
said Dr. Power, laughing, and tapping her under the chin.  "Very
good-natured of his Grace, upon my life!  Well, well, never mind,
sweetheart; but listen to me, and I'll tell you the reason of his
coming over."  Whereupon the good vicar launched forth into a
vigorous little lecture, all about the Duke of Monmouth, and the
great things that he was going to do for the country.  Such a hero,
according to Dr. Power's description, had never been known in England
since the days of the Black Prince.  Indeed I began to think again of
those marvellous stories that Shad used to tell of King Arthur and
his knights of the Round Table, and my admiration for the Duke of
Monmouth waxed hotter than ever.  The Duke (so Dr. Power told us) was
a true and stanch Protestant, and his uncle King James a bigoted
Papist, who would force us all soon to be Papists too, unless we
chose rather to be put to the torture or burned alive, like those
poor souls in wicked Queen Mary's reign.  From this the Duke had come
to save us.  The King cared only for the privileges of the Crown, and
nought for the rights of his subjects.  He would make us slaves, and
sell the country to France.  Monmouth was bent solely upon guarding
the liberty of the Parliament and the people.  Under him we should
be, as the Prayer-book said, "godly and quietly governed;" and every
one would be free to worship in peace as his conscience taught him.
Moreover, the Duke was the true heir.  He had a better title to the
throne than the present King.  Why, Dr. Power did not wait to explain
at that time.  We should not understand the merits of the question,
he said, even were he to enter into it; but such, he assured us, was
the case.  The Duke's enemies, with his uncle at their head, had
contrived to banish him six years ago; but now, here he was back on
English ground again, with a loyal band of followers.  The country
was rising in all directions.  In a short time the best part of
England would be with him, the Popish King would be driven from his
throne, and a Protestant prince, loved and honoured by every true
Englishman, would reign in his stead.

'So ended Dr. Power's oration, to which we listened with much respect
and awe.  No one, of course, presumed to question what he said;
though I thought Henrietta looked as if she could have disputed the
truth of some of his remarks had she dared.  Mrs. Fortescue did
murmur something about our parents' political opinions not having
been consulted; but she was summarily quenched by Dr. Power's
indignant "Pshaw! pshaw!  Madame; are we to plant unsound political
faith in young minds for any consideration whatever?  No, Madame; if
the parents of these children choose to disapprove what Madame St.
Aubert teaches, why, then, let them take away their daughters from
her care."

'For my own part, I thought it a matter of course that Dr. Power's
side of the question must be the right one.  It was enough for me
that Madame St. Aubert and Mrs. Fortescue were on that side, not to
mention my favourite, Bessie; but when Dr. Power,--the vicar of our
parish, whom we were all in the habit of holding in the greatest
veneration and respect as a pious and learned divine,--when he said
that the Duke of Monmouth was right and the King wrong, it seemed to
me that no one ought to have any more doubt upon the matter.  It gave
me a slight shock, to be sure, to hear his Majesty spoken of in such
terms of disrespect, for mamma had always taught me that we ought to
honour the King; but then Dr. Power had said that the Duke of
Monmouth had really more right to be king than he, so my mind was set
at ease upon that point.  I had not learned in those days that even
learned and pious men can sometimes make mistakes, nor that two
people may be equally honest--equally wise and good--and yet see the
same thing in a perfectly different light.

'The day was a most glorious one.  Never was a more perfect summer
morning.  We were in exuberant spirits when we poured out into the
garden, to make the most of our holiday, and talk about the great
event which we were to remember to the last hour of our lives.  I
think we all obeyed that injunction of Madame St. Aubert's to the
letter.  I can answer for three of us at any rate.

'"We are absolved from our secret, Frances," said Bessie.  "Madame
St. Aubert called me back to tell me so, and to bid me give you both
her best thanks for keeping it so well."

"She owes me her thanks," said Henrietta, with a sigh of relief.  "It
has been a very painful secret to me, and I am heartily glad to have
done with it."

"So that was the reason your face grew so bright when Dr. Power told
us the news!" cried Bessie, laughing.  "I thought it could not be on
the Duke's account."

'"No, indeed.  I was only thinking that, now he really has landed,
the news must soon be known all over the country.  I have been very
uneasy ever since that promise, Bessie.  I was loth enough to give
it, but I could not refuse to keep a secret that we had found out in
such a questionable, hardly honourable, kind of way."  Bessie opened
her eyes.

'"Uneasy!  But why uneasy?  My dear Henrietta, if you had refused to
promise, what difference would it have made?  What could you have
done?"

'"I don't quite know, but I felt as if I had no right to hide such a
very serious piece of news as that.  It seemed to me that I ought, in
strict right, to let my father know of it."

'"Henrietta!" cried Bessie, aghast.  "But you could not have done it;
Madame would never have allowed that!"

'"No, I do not know that I could have managed it; but I might have
tried.  I fear I did wrong in making any promise, after all.
Remember, Bessie, this is a terribly important matter: it is the
beginning of a rebellion--of a civil war."

'"But, Henrietta," I asked, "won't your father join the Duke of
Monmouth, then?  Bessie says she is sure her uncle will.  Oh, how I
hope my father will, too!  And, ah! poor Oliver, I know how he will
long to be off to the Duke's army, and how he will try to persuade
mamma that he is old enough."  Henrietta smiled, and pulled my curls.

'"No, Francis, I hope your father will do no such thing; and I am
quite sure that mine will not.  However, happen what may now, my
father, and the King, and everybody else too, knows what is going on,
and can take whatever course they please; so I am content.  I can do
neither good nor harm in the matter now."

'"No," sighed Bessie: "if we were only men!  But, as it is, we can do
nothing to help the Duke, nothing whatever, except to pray that the
right side may have the victory."

'"The right side," murmured Henrietta thoughtfully.  "Yes, Bessie, we
can pray for the right side."

'Now that our tongues were free once more, Bessie and I were ready
enough to astonish the other girls with the history of our adventure
three days ago; and great was the excitement and interest with which
they listened to it.

'"_I_ knew there was something!"  "So that was why you all three
vanished for such a long time?" "_I_ thought Bessie squeezed up her
lips unusually tight, as if she was afraid something was going to
escape them."  "_I_ wondered why Frances had been looking so solemn
and important lately."  Such were the exclamations with which our
story was greeted,--exclamations that rather hurt my feelings, and
Bessie's too, I think, for we had prided ourselves upon behaving
exactly the same as usual, and not looking in the least bit conscious
or mysterious.

'"I wonder what your father will do, Frances," said Agnes Blount,
"and Sir Harry, and poor Algernon too.  Why, what will become of the
pages if the King and Queen are driven away?  Alack! alack!  I hope
he won't be beheaded, or anything dreadful happen to him!"  This
startling idea had not struck me before.  Poor Algernon! of course I
should not have liked him to be beheaded; though, at the same time,
it was a great comfort to think that it was he, and not Oliver, whose
neck might be in danger.

'"Nonsense, Agnes," I said, trying to speak very decidedly.  "As if
they would behead a boy!"

'"Oh, but they would," put in Lucy Fordyce.  "Prince Arthur was only
a boy, you know, and yet King John murdered him."

'"My dear Lucy, that was so very long ago.  Besides Lord Desmond is
not heir to the Crown."  There was something in that argument, as
Agnes allowed, still she did not seem quite satisfied.

'"No, but you see, Frances, he is one of the Queen's pages; and if
there really is going to be another civil war, perhaps they will
murder the King, as they did his father, and maybe the Queen too; and
then, of course, any one belonging to the court will be in great
danger.  Oh Fan, supposing poor Algernon was to be killed, you would
be a widow, you know.  Oh dear! oh dear!  How shocking!"  This last
recollection, added to her fears for Algernon, was too much for
Agnes.  She gave one half-stifled sob and burst into tears.

'This made me feel very uncomfortable, and more really frightened on
Algernon's account than I had been at first; for it was such a new
thing to see Agnes cry--Agnes, generally so blyth and
sweet-tempered--that I began to fear that things must indeed be
getting serious.  Poor Algernon!  We had not been particularly good
friends that first and last time of our meeting, considering for what
purpose that meeting had been, nor had our parting been much taken to
heart by either of us; yet when I remembered his honest brown eyes,
and round, rosy, good-humoured face as he rushed about so happily
with my brothers, and then tried to imagine him with his curly head
upon the block, or dying, sword in hand, amongst a heap of
slaughtered pages, a sudden desire came over me to cry also.

"Fancy _you_ a widow!" repeated Agnes, with another dismal sob, as I
put my arm round her neck and tried to say something consoling.

'"Like Dr. Power's mother," suggested Lucy Fordyce, looking at me
with a sort of scared expression.

'I made an effort to fancy myself like Dr. Power's mother, and the
consequence was a violent fit of laughter, which checked my tears
completely, and dried up Agnes's too; for Mistress Tabitha Power was
eighty-five, and wore deep mourning robes which swept the ground, a
black hood drawn almost over her face, and always leaned upon an
ebony crutch with a silver handle.  Then, when our laugh was over,
Agnes began to wonder again what side my father and Sir Harry
Mountfort would take in the coming war, if war there really was to
be.  Mamma, I felt pretty sure, would be for the Duke of Monmouth,
because Dr. Power had said that the King would make Papists of us
all; and I knew that mamma was the stanchest of Protestants, and that
nothing on earth would be so abhorrent to her as the idea of having
her own religion or that of her children interfered with.  As to my
father, I did not know what to think about him, but I had a vague
impression that Colonel Dare thought him likely to favour the Duke's
pretensions; and if Colonel Dare did not know, who did?  Agnes was
rather doubtful about Sir Harry.  She wished very much to believe
that he would take the same view of affairs as Madame St. Aubert and
Dr. Power, but could not avoid a misgiving that, whatever his own
opinions might be, the part which he eventually took would be decided
by Lady Mountfort.

'"And she is a strict Catholic, you know, Frances; and no ones loves
the King more than she does.  I remember how she used to praise him
when he was Duke of York.  Ah! she will never let Sir Harry stand up
against King James, and he always does everything she wishes."

'"Perhaps my father will persuade him," I suggested: "they are such
great friends, you know."

'"Ah! you don't know Lady Mountfort," returned Agnes despondingly.
She was quite a Monmouthite already, the only drawback being her
uneasiness for Algernon.  In fact Dr. Power's eloquence had plunged
every one of us (Henrietta alone excepted) heart and soul into the
Duke's cause, which was not to be wondered at.  What else, indeed,
was to be expected, considering how very little we knew about the
business, save what he chose to tell us?  So we sat under the lime
tree all that pleasant sunny morning, making guesses as to what our
respective relations intended to do; and trying to persuade ourselves
that they, one and all, must, should, and would buckle on their
swords for our hero, the Duke of Monmouth.

'Madame invited us to sup with her that evening in the north parlour;
and a few of her particular friends were of the party--Dr. Power
amongst them, who was in tremendous spirits, and made another speech,
so brilliant that I thought it might almost have brought King James
himself to come quietly down from his throne and make a present of
his crown to his nephew.  Yes, that was a delightful evening.  We
danced, and sang madrigals, and played games, and, before we broke
up, drank Monmouth's health in a cup of that very choice canary which
was generally considered sacred to Dr. Power, and which Madame's
pupils had never aspired to partake of in their wildest dreams.

'Well, the time passed on, and little was talked of in the house but
the Duke of Monmouth and his prospects.  Scraps of news came in from
time to time to feed our excitement, the bearer thereof being
generally Dr. Power.  First we heard of a skirmish at Bridport, which
seemed to have been a somewhat confused and doubtful affair, in which
neither side had got much the best of it.  Then we were shocked by
hearing that Colonel Dare was dead, shot in a quarrel with a Scotch
gentleman, one of Monmouth's followers.  Dr. Power shook his head
very gravely when he told us this.  It looked ill, he said, for the
discipline of the Duke's army and the unity of his officers, that
such an outrage should have taken place.  However, the Duke had been
highly indignant, and had done the only thing that could be done
under the circumstances, and sent off the offending Scot, Colonel
Fletcher of Saltoun, to the Continent.

'"So there go two of his best officers already," quoth Dr. Power,
with a sigh; "and that's no trifling loss, let me tell you.  Ah!
well, I always told Dare it would come to this.  I have known him
from a boy, and he was always the same furious, hot-headed fellow.
Ah-h-h," and Dr. Power went away, whistling to be sure, as usual, but
the air he whistled was slow and plaintive, and his face a shade less
cheerful than it was wont to be.  But the next time he made his
appearance he was brisk and light-hearted as ever; and well he might
be, considering what tidings he brought.  Four thousand men of the
train-bands, under the Duke of Albemarle, had been arrayed near
Axminster, and were preparing to meet the invaders; but no sooner did
Monmouth's troops appear upon the scene than the train-bands
retreated in confusion, without waiting to strike a blow, and the
Duke--_our_ Duke--was marching in triumph towards Taunton.  It was
Dr. Power's opinion that we might expect to see him that very
evening.  You may fancy the effect of this announcement upon Madame
St. Aubert's household.  The delight and excitement that reigned
there were quite indescribable.  Even the scullions in the kitchen
were heard uttering distant hurrahs.

'The rest of the day was spent in bustle and preparation.  The garden
was stripped of all its gayest and choicest flowers, and the usual
books, slates, and ink-stands which generally filled the schoolroom
gave way to bright heaps of roses, lilies, pansies, and carnations,
which were to be turned into wreaths and garlands before the evening.
Ah, how well I remember that day!--the laughter and chatter as we
worked at the wreaths, and the breathless interest with which we
watched them put up afterwards in festoons, over door, balcony, and
windows.  All the gardens in Taunton must have been plundered, I
think, that morning, for, as we looked down the street, every house
seemed, like our own, to be absolutely glowing with flowers.

'It was nearly sunset when the sound of drum and fife, the ring of
steel, and the even tramp of many feet announced that Monmouth and
his army must be at hand; and never shall I forget the storm of
cheers that welcomed him as he came riding into the town.  It seemed
to rise from every street in Taunton; and I suppose it was that I had
never heard so many voices together before, but the sound gave me a
curious, uncomfortable, half-frightened feeling, as if I must get out
of everybody's sight, and cry.  However, this was quite out of the
question; the balcony where we stood being so much crowded, that it
was a hard matter to move one's arms enough to throw down the pinks
and roses with which our aprons were filled.  The street was thickly
lined on each side with people in holiday dress, and all carrying
green boughs; and from every window and balcony handkerchiefs and
scarves were waving, and flowers were raining down.  The Duke looked
up and bowed as he passed underneath our windows whereupon Madame St.
Aubert gasped out, "O mon roi! mon roi!" and burst into one of her
floods of tears; while Bessie, in the violence of her feeling, flung
away handkerchief and basket as well as her flowers, and was heard
afterwards anxiously questioning every one as to what could possibly
have become of them.  "Was I not right, Frances?  Is he not a noble,
gallant prince?  Does he not look like a king?" demanded she
triumphantly, when the Duke and his white horse could no longer be
distinguished.  And to this I agreed, with all my heart; as well I
might, considering how many older and wiser folks than I had been
completely carried away by Monmouth's handsome face and graceful
winning manner.

'"Oh Henrietta, if you would only have come out to see him, you would
have changed your mind!"  Such was the assurance that all the girls
repeated over and over again, when Henrietta was hearing a detailed
account of the procession from beginning to end; for she had steadily
refused to help in the making of the wreaths or to join the party on
the balcony, and Madame was far too much pre-occupied to care whether
she came or stayed away.  A shrug of the shoulders, and a
contemptuous "stiff-necked little fool!" was her only attempt at
remonstrance.  So Henrietta quietly managed to keep out of the way
all the afternoon; and when the last man in the procession had passed
out of the street, we ran off to find her, and pour out a description
of the great sight we had seen, to the only person in the house who
had not been a witness of it.  She was as much interested, and asked
as many questions as we could wish; but all our regrets that she had
missed the pageant, and all our protestations that she must have
changed her mind had she seen the Duke of Monmouth, only made her
smile and shake her head.

'"Indeed, Bessie," she said, "I quite believe that he is as handsome
and brave and gallant a gentleman as you say, but that is no proof
against what my father told me; and now I know that, I hope that
merely to look upon him would not make me change my mind.  I suppose
a comely face and gentle bearing are not enough to give him a right
to the throne, nor to make him a good king, or a good soldier either."

'There was no denying this; nevertheless it made not the slightest
impression upon any of us.  Madame St. Aubert and Dr. Power believed
in the Duke of Monmouth, and we were content to follow their lead.
He was our hero, for whom we vowed that we would willingly have laid
down our lives, and, at the time, we really fancied that we meant
what we said.  Next morning, though the flowers had vanished from the
schoolroom, books and desks were not yet to be seen in their stead.
To-day the first thing that met our eyes as we entered the room was a
piece of sky-blue silk spread out upon the middle of the table, and
surrounded by innumerable skeins of gold and silver thread, and silks
in all the colours of the rainbow.  These, Madame told us, were the
materials for a banner to be presented to the Duke before his
departure from Taunton--"presented by us, our very own selves," as
Lucy Fordyce said, clapping her hands with delight.

'"Whoever has a hand in the making of it shall walk in the
procession," said Madame, with a smile, as she drew the heap of silks
towards her and began to disentangle the skeins.

'We were all feeling rather dull after the intense excitement of the
day before, and the working of the banner seemed to be the very thing
we felt most inclined to do,--something that could really be done for
the Duke,--something that, by our efforts, we might make not unworthy
to be offered.  These thoughts were enough to revive all our
enthusiasm, and to set us to work with an energy and perseverance
which, I am afraid, we had never been known before to display in
Madame St. Aubert's schoolroom.  Pauline proceeded to draw out the
pattern, Bessie to sort the silks into heaps of the same colour, but
varying in shade; and the little ones were soon busy in winding
skeins and threading needles for the whole party.  To my own great
joy, I was not classed among the "little ones" on the present
occasion.  Mamma had taught me to embroider very well; and, much as I
hated it at home, I was glad to find, when I came to school, that
there was one thing at least which I could do better than Agnes
Blount,--better, indeed, than most of the girls much older than
myself.  Henrietta was the only one whom I could not hope to rival;
and Henrietta would not help us.  We dragged her into the room, and
made her admire the soft rich blue of the silk, and the glittering
gold and silver, with which it was to be ornamented, and from habit
she began to show Mary Seymour how to hold her hand so as not to soil
her work; but when she glanced over Pauline's shoulder and saw the
pattern that she was copying, she exclaimed, "Oh Pauline!" in a voice
of such disapproval and distress that we all looked up surprised.

'"Don't you think a lion and a unicorn will be pretty, Henrietta?" I
asked anxiously.  "I wanted to have some beautiful gold lilies, like
those in that French book Madame showed us; but Bessie said that
would not do, because the Duke of Monmouth must have the arms of
England."

'"But he is to have a French motto," observed Lucy Fordyce.  "And
such an easy one.  I can translate it quite well: 'God and my Right.'
It is all to be written in gold letters.  Don't you think it will
look very well?"

'"Oh yes, very well indeed," replied Henrietta, with a little smile
that seemed to make Bessie quite angry, for she said indignantly;

'"Well, Henrietta, and has he not the best right in the world to the
royal arms?  Is he not our king already?"

'"Oh, certainly, if wearing our king's colours makes him so; and I
think he ought to be proud of having such a devoted subject.  But,
Bessie dear, I see you have changed your favourite rose colour for
blue, which I have often heard you say does not suit you half so
well."

'Bessie looked vexed at this speech, and her cheeks flushed for a
minute; but then, glancing down at her blue breast-knot with a proud
smile, she said enthusiastically, almost defiantly, "I don't care if
you do laugh at me.  It is the only thing I can do for him."

'"Ah! that is right!  That is my own warm-hearted Bessie," cried
Pauline, who always expressed her feelings far more openly and
strongly than any of the rest of us.  "I think it is very right and
noble of her to do it, and I would do just the same--only,
unfortunately, blue does suit me; so it is no sacrifice."  And
darting an indignant look at Henrietta, she flew to Bessie's side and
bestowed an affectionate kiss on both her cheeks.  Pauline's
demonstrative ways used to make us all feel rather embarrassed
sometimes; and Henrietta especially would become colder and more
reserved than ever when Pauline was "attendrie" or "emue," as she
expressed it.  On the present occasion, however, her eyes twinkled
with fun when she saw that Pauline's hasty movement had swept our
beautiful banner down to the floor, while all the embroiderers had
stopped their work to stare at Bessie, and did not even make an
effort to save it.

'"Well, good-bye, Pauline," she said, turning to leave the room; "I
won't hinder your work any longer.  Your hero's standard is trailing
in the dust, which is rather a bad omen; but it was not I that threw
it there."  And Henrietta vanished, while the rest of the party
returned to their work with increased soberness and diligence, but
rather less talking than before.

We prospered very well after we had begun: we were all anxious to
show Henrietta what we could accomplish, even without her skilful
fingers to aid us.  Moreover, Madame St. Aubert came to superintend;
and, after a time, when lion and unicorn were beginning to stand
forth in all their bravery from their gay background, carefully
balancing a glistening crown between their uplifted fore-paws, she
brought in Dr. Power to see and admire.  He praised our needlework to
our hearts' content; but when he put on his spectacles to examine the
device, he looked almost as grave as Henrietta had done, and gave a
sort of subdued whistle of surprise.  But Madame St. Aubert whispered
something in his ear which caused him to say, "Ah! well, I thought it
would come to that; but 'tis a pity--in my opinion 'tis a thousand
pities--that the Duke should allow such a decided step to be taken."

'Madame St. Aubert drew herself up as stiffly as if she was going to
hear Dr. Power the multiplication-table.  "I have the best authority
for saying that the measure was recommended by his Grace's most
trusted advisers," replied she with dignity.

'Dr. Power looked as puzzled as though he had forgotten that twice
one made two, and rubbed his wig till it was quite crooked, before he
said, with an air of relief, "Well, Madame, the Scripture hath
declared that in the multitude of counsellors there is safety; and
so, I hope, it will prove on the present occasion.  For myself, I
shall certainly be able to say with all my heart, 'God save our
King.'"

'I did not in the least understand what was meant by this
conversation; and when I pulled Bessie's sleeve and asked her, she
said she was not quite sure, and I must wait till to-morrow to know.

'I was not much wiser when the morrow came, and Bessie told me, with
a beaming face, that the Duke of Monmouth was going to be proclaimed
king in the market-place of Taunton.  However, seeing that she looked
very glad, I tried to feel glad too, and succeeded completely, when
she informed me that, after the proclamation had taken place, our
banner was to be presented by the whole school in procession, as the
gift of the maids of Taunton.

'"And when--when is it to be, Bessie?" cried several voices.

'"Next Thursday, Madame says; so we have not too much time; but I'll
work my fingers to the bone rather than it should not be done."

'We were all of the same mind about this; and work we did, with an
energy that astonished even Madame St. Aubert, and that wore holes in
some of our thimbles, even if our fingers escaped safe and sound.
But were we not repaid for all our trouble on the morning, when
Bessie, the leader of a long procession, stood by the market-cross,
holding in her hand the staff from which floated our completed banner
in all its beauty, just fluttering enough in the wind to show gleams
of the red and gold, forming the scroll and tracery which adorned its
ample folds?  What a crowd filled the market-place! and however one
pushed and struggled to catch a glimpse of Bessie, whose bright eyes
were brighter than usual, and whose colour came and went every moment
with excitement!  "How pretty Bessie is!" I whispered to Agnes; "I
never knew she was pretty till to-day."  "Hush!  Hush! the Duke is
coming," was all Agnes had time to say, before such a cheer rang
through the market-place as I never heard in my life before.  It
quite drowned the clatter of hoofs, as the Duke of Monmouth and his
train came riding through the throng of people, the Duke smiling and
bowing to every one as he passed, and having to take off his hat so
often, that at last he kept it in his hand, and rode on, bare-headed,
up to the market-cross, where he alighted, and, standing on the
steps, bowed once more, while the cheers rose higher and higher.  And
now I thought the important time had come; but Bessie knew better,
and waited while one of the Duke's followers, very richly dressed,
blew a loud blast on a trumpet--to secure silence, I suppose--and
then read in a high, monotonous voice, from a strip of parchment
which he held in his hand, a proclamation, of which I could not catch
one word.  It was only by standing on tip-toe that I could see what
was going on; and it was by keeping in this position, and holding
fast by Agnes Blount's arm, that I saw how, when the gentleman had
finished reading, he waved his hat in the air and shouted "God save
the King!" with all his might.  It must have been every voice in
Taunton, I think, which joined the answering shout of "God save the
King!  Long live Monmouth, the true heir to the throne!  The
Protestant succession for ever!  Down with the Papists!"  I dropped
back into my former position, and left my hold on Agnes's shoulder,
not quite certain whether I felt most inclined to clap my hands and
cheer as Dr. Power was doing, or to stop my ears and sob
hysterically, like little Lucy Fordyce, who was quite scared at the
noise.

'"Hush, hush, Lucy! don't cry, chérie," whispered Pauline
consolingly.  "There, it is all over now, Look at mamma: the Duke is
going to speak to her.  Oh, mon Dieu, what a handsome man! what fire
in the eyes!" and Pauline, after good-naturedly putting Lucy into a
place where she could see what was going on, relapsed into silence,
only occasionally broken by murmured exclamations in French, when her
feelings became too much for her.

'Madame St. Aubert knelt on one knee before the Duke, kissed his
hand, and presented him with a Bible, splendidly bound in crimson and
gold.

'"Ah! qu'il a l'air noble et gracieux!  C'est un vrai roi!" cried
Pauline below her breath, as the Duke took her mother's hand to raise
her from the ground, bowed profoundly over it, and said as he took
the gift she offered: "Madame, I have come to defend the truths
contained in this book, and to seal them, if so it must be, with my
blood."

'I heard these words quite distinctly, in the sudden silence which
had followed the cheers; but, after the Duke had finished speaking,
the noise grew more deafening than ever.  A great many people were
sobbing, too, besides Lucy Fordyce, though it could not have been
with fright, like her, for they were quite grown-up.

'Dr. Power rubbed his hands together and said, "Right, right: those
are the best words that have been spoken yet," quite out loud.  And
Eleanor Page whispered to Pauline, "I wish Henrietta was here: she
would be convinced now."

'And now, at a sign from Madame St. Aubert, the whole school began to
move forward, and we all fell into our proper places in the
procession.  Bessie did not change colour now, nor falter in the
least, as she knelt before the Duke and gave the banner into his
hand, with the few words which had been arranged beforehand for her
to say: "Will your Grace deign to accept all we have to offer
you--the best work of our hands, with the best wishes of our hearts?"

[Illustration: BESSIE DID NOT CHANGE COLOUR NOW, NOR FALTER IN THE
LEAST, AS SHE KNELT BEFORE THE DUKE AND GAVE THE BANNER INTO HIS
HANDS.]

'"When you see these colours again, fair mistress," said the Duke, as
he clasped the staff in his hand, "I trust they will have waved over
a conquered field.  We cannot but be victorious who fight under a
flag worked by so many fair hands, and accompanied by the wishes of
so many kind hearts.  In the name of my followers as well as my own,
I thank you, and all people of the good town of Taunton, for their
faith in me and in my cause.  I ask them to keep their faith only a
little longer, and it shall be justified.  We are in arms for the
liberties of England, and for the Protestant religion, and therefore
can say, without the shadow of a doubt or scruple, 'May God defend
the right!'"

'Bessie's earnest "Amen" was repeated in a sort of shout by many
voices, for the Duke spoke in tones clear enough to be heard by all
around him.  Dr. Power was just going to rub his hands again, but
changed his mind, and rubbed one eye instead--very hard indeed--and
then looked about him with such a triumphant smile, that I felt
exactly as if he was saying, "I told you so.  Did I not use almost
these very words, young ladies?  Let this be impressed upon your
minds till the latest hour of your lives."  Certainly the impression
was made upon mine.  I can recollect even now all that happened on
that day, down to the most trivial particulars, with a minuteness
that would satisfy even Dr. Power himself.  But, anxious as he was
that it should be so, I am quite sure that he never dreamed what
terrible reason we should all have for remembering that twentieth of
June to the latest hour of our lives.



CHAPTER IV.

THE MAIDS OF TAUNTON (CONTINUED).

The next day we watched the Duke of Monmouth's troops march out of
Taunton on their way to Bridgewater.  File after file of soldiers
passed under our eyes, and yet there were more behind.

'"Thousands and thousands of them!" Camilla Fanshawe said, with a
look of awe.  "How can anybody doubt that the Duke will get back his
rights, and win the crown which belonged to him, with such an army as
that to fight his battles?"

'And yet we all agreed that its leader looked very melancholy.
Though "Long live King Monmouth!" was echoing all down the street as
he passed, he did not smile, but merely bowed mechanically, without
caring to glance up at the faces which filled every window and
balcony on both sides of the way.

'"Why does he look like that?" said Camilla, quite disappointed, like
the rest of us, at the change which had come over the Duke since
yesterday.

'"Perhaps he is sorry to leave Taunton," suggested Agnes.  "You know
every one seems to like him so much here, and maybe they will not in
other places."

'"Perhaps he is thinking how many of the men who are marching with
him now may never come back to Taunton," said Eleanor Page gravely.

'Henrietta sighed, and turned away from the window; and though the
rest of us stayed there till the last strain of music died away in
the distance, and the last straggler of the rabble who followed the
army had vanished from our sight, yet it was with very sober faces
that we gazed, for this was the first time that we really began to
think what must be some of the consequences of the scene we had
witnessed yesterday.

'"Will they fight a battle, and all be killed?" asked Lucy Fordyce
anxiously.

'Nobody answered.  But I am sure that we were all thinking the same
thing, and were wondering how long it would be before we should hear
news of the men who had just marched away from before our eyes,
leaving the streets of Taunton to look duller and emptier than they
had ever done before.

'We did not hear anything at all for about a week, and then only that
the Duke had been well received at Bridgewater--that he had marched
from there to Glastonbury, Wells, Bristol, and other places whose
names I forgot as soon as I heard them.  After this, reports became
extremely vague.  "The Duke was marching straight for London," we
were told, "with the King's army flying before him;" but this was
immediately contradicted by some one who knew (on the best authority)
that the Duke was making his way through Worcestershire towards
Shropshire and Cheshire, in order to collect his friends in those
counties; after which we heard that he had won a decisive victory at
Philips Norton, and then that there had been no battle at all there.
By the time the great news really came, which brought back all our
excitement and interest in a rush, most of the younger girls, and
certainly myself among the number, were getting very tired of the
perpetual discussions about the Duke and his prospects which went on
among our elders.

'"We cannot do anything; so what is the use of talking about it?"
Camilla said.  And I secretly agreed with her, though my affection
for Bessie generally kept me at her side during play-hours, in spite
of the fact that she talked of nothing but this one subject, which
was becoming, to my mind, a very stale one indeed.

'One morning I was standing by the window in our bedroom doing
nothing, though I had been sent there to learn a lesson, given me as
a punishment for inattention.  I looked at my book for about five
minutes, and then relapsed into a day-dream about Oliver and Hebe,
which was broken by my hearing a noise in the street.  Of course I
went to the window to see what it meant, and to my astonishment
beheld quite a crowd collected in front of our house,--among them
Madame St. Aubert herself, whom I had left a quarter of an hour ago
in the schoolroom reading aloud a book of French history to the elder
girls.  She was talking very fast and eagerly, and once wrung her
hands with a sort of impatient despair, which convinced me that
something dreadful was the matter.  What could have happened?  I was
just thinking of venturing down-stairs, at the risk of a scolding,
when I heard footsteps hurriedly approaching, and Bessie, looking
white and terrified, entered the room.

'"Oh, Frances!" she cried as I sprang towards her.  "Such news!--such
miserable news!  All is over with the cause now.  There is nothing
more to hope for."  And Bessie sank into a chair and burst into a
flood of tears.

'"But how do you know?  What has happened?  Has there been a battle?
Is the Duke of Monmouth killed?"  All these questions I hurried out
at once, standing bewildered in the middle of the floor, staring at
Bessie, who at last raised her head and went on with her story.

'"Job Tallis has come back."  (Job Tallis was Madame St. Aubert's
gardener, and was one of the many young men who had joined the Duke's
standard while he was at Taunton.)  "There has been a dreadful battle
at a place called Sedgemoor, close to Bridgewater.  The Duke's men
fought like lions, Job says; but it was all of no use.  They were
outnumbered--their ammunition failed them--their cavalry were
scattered by the first shot: that must have been Lord Grey's fault."
And Bessie stopped to give a little stamp with her foot, and to wipe
her eyes, as she said this: "Oh, if I was but a man?  But there, that
is nonsense.  It was at night, and there was such a fog that it was
impossible to see a dozen yards in front of you.  They fought till
after daybreak,--till Feversham's artillery broke their ranks to
pieces--till they were literally ridden down by his cavalry."

'"And the Duke?" I asked, beginning to tremble, for Bessie's
excitement was infectious.  She shook her head.

'"Job knows nothing about him.  He saw him last on foot, encouraging
his men, and was close to him for a little while; but he was struck
down by a pike (Job, I mean), and knew nothing more till the fight
was over, and then he was almost taken prisoner, Oh! he has had a
great many escapes and adventures; but I could not stay to hear about
them, I wanted to come up here out of everybody's way."

'"But, Bessie, I don't understand what will become of the Duke if he
is alive.  Will he collect a great many more men and fight another
battle?  And if he is taken prisoner, what will they do to him?  Will
they----"

'"Don't, Frances," and Bessie covered her face with her hands and
shuddered.  "I don't know anything.  It is too horrible to think
about.  Oh, he must escape!  Perhaps he is in hiding somewhere;
perhaps he has reached a seaport already, and is safe on board ship."

'I could not get much more from Bessie, who presently begged me to
leave her alone; so I stole down-stairs and joined the rest of the
household, who were every one of them assembled in the kitchen
listening to Job Tallis's account of his own exploits, and of the
utter ruin which had overtaken the Duke's forces, in spite of the
valour of his army in general, and of the men of Taunton in
particular.  Nor was his the only evidence we had of the fight.
Fugitives kept coming into the town, one after another, all that
afternoon, and they all told the same story.  Only, of the Duke
nothing certain was known, except that he had not fallen upon the
field of battle.  Ah! well.  We heard quite soon enough.  From that
day began a time when every morning brought us in bad news,--dreadful
stories of the sufferings of the wounded men, or of the cruelties
practised on their prisoners by the victorious soldiers.

'People were not so particular then as they are now about keeping
children away from all that is shocking or horrible; and I remember
standing, open-mouthed, listening to stories repeated by the
servants, the elder girls, ay, and by Madame St. Aubert
herself,--stories of such atrocities as it would make you ill to
think about, and which I would not relate to you for the world.  To
be sure, it would not have been of much use keeping us in ignorance
of what was going on, for in a few days' time Taunton itself was the
scene of some of the worst horrors,--horrors so appalling that even
the Duke of Monmouth's fate, when we came to hear of it, only gave us
a momentary shock of pity and regret.  You have read all about it in
your books of history: you know that the Duke of Monmouth was
"convicted of high treason, and executed on Tower Hill, in the
thirty-seventh year of his age;" and that "those concerned in his
rebellion were tried and sentenced by Judge Jeffreys, noted for
severity in the execution of his office;" but you just think of it as
something which takes up half a page of Mangnall's Questions, which
must be learnt and said in a given time.  You do not realize--how
should you?--what it was to live in the midst of these things as I
did--to have the events which make up the history of the time
happening outside your very door--to be obliged even to take a part
in them yourself.  But I must go on with my story more regularly, or
I shall never be able to make you understand the order in which
everything took place.

'After hearing all the particulars which could be gleaned of the
fight at Sedgemoor, of course we were wild to know something about
the leaders of the thousand men who lay dead on the field of battle.
Bessie, especially, was so eager about it, that she would run out
into the street to question every fresh arrival from
Bridgewater--whether it were a group of worn-out runaways, or a body
of King James's soldiers in pursuit of the same.  She got her news at
last, and came in, crying, to tell us how Lord Grey had been captured
on the border of the New Forest, disguised as a peasant; and how the
Duke had been found soon after, hidden under some fern and brambles,
famished with hunger, and so altered that he could hardly be
recognised.

'"And who told you all this?" inquired Madame St. Aubert, who had
been much shut up in her own room of late with Mrs. Fortescue, and
was not aware of Bessie's little expeditions in search of information.

'"It was one of Colonel Kirke's officers, Madame," said Bessie, who
knew she had been doing what was entirely contrary to all known
rules; but who trusted to the "bouleversement" of Madame's ideas, and
to the general disorder which prevailed in the school just then, to
save herself from the scolding which she knew she richly deserved.

'"And pray, Mademoiselle Bessie, what business had you to be talking
to Colonel Kirke's officers?" demanded Madame in her most freezing
tone.

'"I would not have done it at any other time, indeed, Madame, but I
was so anxious to hear some news of our poor Duke.  The gentleman was
very civil, and answered all my questions; but I did not like him
much, though he asked me where I lived, and said he should do himself
the honour of----"

'But Bessie was not allowed to finish her sentence, for Madame St.
Aubert advanced a step or two, gave her a sound box on the ear, and
then, to our great surprise, sank back in a chair and went into
hysterics.  Her "bouleversement" of ideas had taken a different turn
from what we expected.  Not that the box on the ear astonished us so
very much.  Madame had been known to bestow the like before, under
circumstances of great provocation,--but that she should go into
hysterics afterwards, this was remarkable indeed; and we stood
looking at her in awe-struck silence till she recovered enough to
speak.  I suppose the knowledge that so many pairs of eyes were upon
her, helped to restore her composure.  At any rate, it was not long
before she rose from her seat with great dignity (Madame always was
particularly dignified after losing her temper), and requested Bessie
to follow her out of the room.  "As for you, young ladies," she said,
turning round upon us as she reached the door, "let me beg that there
may be no more of this unseemly curiosity about what does not concern
you.  You will hear quite enough about the Duke, without babbling
about his affairs to everybody.  Do you hear?  From this day forth I
forbid his name to be mentioned in my house, under pain of my severe
displeasure."  With these words Madame sailed out of the room, and
remained invisible for the rest of the day.

'She left, however, a very rebellious set of pupils behind her.  It
was not so easy to stop all interest in our hero as it had been to
arouse our enthusiasm for him.  Many were the murmurs we indulged in,
and the hard names we called Madame St. Aubert for being "so
mean-spirited as to desert the Duke in the hour of his misfortune."

'This phrase was Bessie's, and we all admired it extremely.  She came
back from her private interview in a state of wrathful indignation,
in which we all shared.  "Madame St. Aubert," she said, "was a
coward; and, now that the Duke of Monmouth's cause was lost, wanted
to turn against him like the rest of the world, and to deny that she
had ever befriended him.  As if the Government would dream of
meddling with her for what she had done!  The Government had other
things to think of.  Don't you think so, Henrietta?" she concluded
with a sudden change of voice, as if Madame St. Aubert had succeeded
in frightening her a little in spite of her high tone.

'"I don't know about that," said Henrietta in her slow, considering
way.  "At any rate, it is as well to be prudent, Bess, or you might
be getting other people into trouble without doing the Duke of
Monmouth any good.  You remember what we saw yesterday?"

'There was a moment's silence, as we remembered with a pang the
wretched faces of a long line of prisoners, chained two and two, whom
we had seen marching into Taunton between files of Colonel Kirke's
soldiers.  Colonel Kirke was in command of King James's troops now,
since General Feversham had been sent for to London, and had entered
Taunton with a large body of men the day before.

'"But, Henrietta," said Eleanor Page in rather a tremulous voice,
"that was quite different: those poor men had been fighting for the
Duke, and they were taken prisoners on the field of battle.  Madame
can't be afraid of anything of that sort happening to her."

'"Of course not," said Mary Seymour lightly; "Henrietta is such a
croaker.  For my part, I thought she would be delighted to hear of
the Duke's misfortunes; she was always talking against him when he
was here."

'Henrietta flushed up at this, and was just opening her mouth to
answer, when Ph[oe]be Morris, one of the servant girls, rushed into
the room, wringing her hands, crying and sobbing, in such a state of
distraction that we could hardly make out what she said.

'"Oh Mistress Henrietta!  Oh young ladies, where is Madame?  Oh! get
her to come and speak a word for him.  Oh my poor Job Tallis: they've
taken him away between them--two of those wicked soldiers; and he'll
be hanged--I know he will; and all because they found his pike behind
the kitchen door, with the blue ribbons on it I tied there a
fortnight ago.  Oh, what a fool I was not to hide it under the faggot
stack when he brought it home!"

'"Hanged, Ph[oe]be! he can't surely be hanged for following the Duke.
Why, they must hang every man in Taunton if they hang him: they all
did the same thing.  And that is impossible."

'"Oh, but they will, Mistress Bessie," persisted Ph[oe]be.  "That
Colonel Kirke is a wicked, wicked man.  They have got a gallows in
front of the White Hart Inn, and there were three strapping young
fellows hung there this morning.  You can see it if you like to come
up-stairs to my bedroom window."

'But none of us took advantage of this offer, and Ph[oe]be, with her
apron at her eyes, went away to tell her story to Madame St. Aubert;
while we sat huddled together in the schoolroom for the rest of the
day, talking in whispers, and making wild conjectures as to what
would happen next.

'What a long, dreary evening it was!  For once in our lives, we
younger ones were glad when bed-time came--though, to be sure, Lucy
Fordyce was seized with a crying fit; and I, for the first time in my
life woke up, screaming, in the middle of the night, being quite
convinced that I heard the soldiers coming upstairs to take me away.
Perhaps I really did hear some one moving about; for the next morning
neither Madame St. Aubert nor Pauline, who slept in her mother's
room, appeared at breakfast.  Mrs. Fortescue read prayers; and when
the looks of astonishment and inquiry directed towards their empty
places became too numerous to be borne any longer in silence, she
told us that Madame St. Aubert had thought it best, both for her own
safety and that of her pupils, to leave England for a short time.  On
account of the unsettled state of the country, it was necessary that
the journey should be performed as quickly and secretly as possible,
which was the reason why she had not been able to bid us farewell.
But Pauline had left many affectionate messages for us all, and had
said we were to wish her and her mother a safe journey, and speedy
return.

'"As to yourselves, young ladies," Mrs. Fortescue went on, "you need
not be in any fear for your own safety.  Colonel Kirke does not
imprison children; and if he did, you would be in no danger, for you
have done nothing to deserve it.  It is important that Madame St.
Aubert should arrive safely in France; and therefore I am sure that I
can trust you all to be silent and discreet on the subject of her
journey, and on all other matters connected with this--ahem--this
unfortunate business.  I wish everything to go on as if she was here;
so, after breakfast, you will be pleased to get your books, and we
will continue our studies as usual."

'The conclusion of this speech was so remarkably commonplace, and
Mrs. Fortescue so entirely everyday and matter-of-fact, as she sat at
the head of the table pouring out mugs of milk and water, that our
confidence was a good deal restored; and when the milk and water and
thick slices of bread and butter had quite disappeared, we set about
our tasks almost cheerfully--I, for one, glad to have something to do
which might help me, for a time at least, to forget the dreadful
things which could be seen out of Ph[oe]be's bedroom window.

'Not a word did Mrs. Fortescue ever say about Madame St. Aubert's
sudden journey; but a rumour came round to us through Mary Seymour,
who heard it from Molly the cook (who must, I fear, have listened at
the keyhole), that Mrs. Fortescue had done all she could to persuade
Madame to stay--had told her that her flight would bring suspicion on
the whole house--and that, moreover, it was her duty to remain and
protect the girls under her charge.  Mrs. Fortescue had flatly
refused to go herself; and therefore it was clear, as Molly said,
that there was "a deal more stuff in her than in that Frenchified
woman, for all her stiffness and stand-off manners."  These very
manners had caused Mrs. Fortescue to be anything but a favourite with
us hitherto.  We looked upon her only in the light of a person whom
it was impossible to satisfy with a half-learnt lesson, and who could
be very cross if we were inattentive or careless, or made mistakes
about things which we knew quite well.  But now, during the days of
suspense and terror which followed close on Madame's departure, we
learnt to like her better than we had ever done before.  She treated
us less like children, and yet was kinder to us when we behaved
childishly.  She went on with her own work, managing the house, and
hearing the lessons, as if the cruelties of Colonel Kirke and his men
were of no more recent date than those mentioned in the history of
the Maccabees.  And yet she comforted and soothed us when we sobbed
and shivered over the dreadful stories poor Ph[oe]be was constantly
bringing in, so patiently and gently that we hardly knew her for the
same Mrs. Fortescue who used to scold if we made a single false
stitch in our samplers, and rap our knuckles if we cried over our
sums.

'A day or two after Madame St. Aubert's disappearance, Dr. Power came
to see us.  He came in the evening, with a carter's frock thrown over
his black clothes, and a round hat pulled low on his forehead, so as
partly to conceal his wig.  He was a suspected man, he said, and did
not wish to bring suspicion on our house too, by being seen to visit
it.  He was very much surprised indeed to find that Madame St. Aubert
was gone.  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders when
Mrs. Fortescue told him this, with an expression which we took to
indicate the most unqualified contempt; though I think now that there
was mixed with it some show of admiration for her cleverness in
having managed her escape so promptly and successfully.

'"Well!" he said at last, "if Madame thought flight was necessary, it
was well she accomplished it when she did.  I hear that Colonel
Kirke's outposts are more numerous and vigilant than ever; and I
suspect that he has been reprimanded by the authorities at Whitehall
for his system of stringing up the rank and file of the Duke's
followers--who, poor souls, have not a penny to buy their lives
with--and allowing richer folk to purchase a free pass to some
seaport town.  I am no great friend to the King, as you know, Mrs.
Fortescue,"--here Dr. Power lowered his voice almost to a
whisper,---"but I cannot believe that he approves of these military
executions.  They are shameful, abominable, illegal.  It makes me
sick to see them going on without the power to lift a finger to save
one of the poor creatures,--young men that I have christened, and
catechized, and married perhaps!  And all for doing what they were
told was a just and righteous thing.  There'll be a reckoning for all
this some time; but it is my belief that Colonel Kirke will get his
deserts in this world, and I hope I may live to see the day!"

'Dr. Power walked up and down the room in a state of great agitation,
which gradually calmed down when he saw how we were all staring at
him in frightened silence.

'"I crave your pardon, ladies," he said, "for such an outbreak; but
it is enough to make one's blood boil in one's veins to see such
wholesale slaughter."

'Then he told us that more than a thousand people belonging to
Taunton, suspected of having assisted the Duke of Monmouth, had been
arrested and thrown into prison, where they would remain, awaiting
their trial, until the beginning of the next assizes.  He begged Mrs.
Fortescue to be very careful to avoid all suspicion of having
favoured the Duke, and to keep her young ladies within the precincts
of the house and garden; for they would only see horrible sights if
they went further.  And, moreover, it was best to keep as quiet as
possible while Colonel Kirke was in Taunton.

'Then the kind old Doctor bade us good-bye, and went sadly away,
after carefully arranging his disguise, which, I remember, struck me
at the time as being more likely to attract attention than to divert
it--the effect, on the whole, being so very unnatural and peculiar.
The next day we heard that he had been arrested.  Well, I must not
dwell any longer on that dreary time, for I have still much to tell.
Bad as those days were, there were still worse to come, as we very
soon found, when the terrible Judge Jeffreys arrived in Taunton.  We
had heard of his cruel deeds at Winchester--of the terrible fate of
poor Dame Alice Lisle, sentenced to death for granting a hiding-place
in her house to some of the rebels; and now he had come to hold the
assizes here, in the very same town with us.  I remember Mrs.
Fortescue's look when the news came that he was actually in Taunton.
Every tinge of colour faded out of her face,--out of her lips
even,--and I thought she was going to faint; but she recovered
herself, and tried to be more cheerful than usual for the rest of the
day.  Still that did not blind us.  We could see clearly enough how
uneasy she really was; and indeed I think all our hearts sank from
the moment we heard those tidings; for, as Henrietta said, with a
foreboding shudder, "If he could condemn an old gentlewoman like Dame
Alice Lisle to be burnt, only for hiding a rebel, no fault could be
small enough for him to spare."

'"Ay; and no punishment too cruel for his hard heart," cried Bessie
passionately--"nobody insignificant enough to be passed over.  Madame
St. Aubert did well to escape so soon.  I would we were all with her."

'From the depths of our hearts we echoed Bessie's wish; and with only
too good reason, as you will very soon see.

'The next morning, before we were more than half dressed, a
succession of thundering knocks at the hall door, and sundry violent
peals of the bell, brought all our toilets to a sudden standstill.
There was a moment's startled silence in the room; then a burst of
exclamations, and a rush to the window, from which nothing was to be
seen except a few ragged boys standing about near our gate.
Presently there was a murmur of strange voices in the house, and
after a while a ringing scream from Ph[oe]be on the stairs.  The next
minute we heard her rush into the room where the elder girls slept,
and, with one consent, we followed her there.

'"Do speak, Ph[oe]be! for Heaven's sake, tell us what is the matter,"
Bessie was saying, with an impatient stamp, as we entered; but
"Alack, alack, alack!" was Ph[oe]be's only answer, as she leaned
against the door-post, gasping and sobbing, and wringing her hands,
until Henrietta silently offered her some water; after drinking which
she became a little more coherent.

'"Oh, well-day! poor dear ladies!  Lord have mercy upon us!  They've
come at last, as I've always feared they would, ever since Madame
went away."

'We looked at one another in dumb horror.

'"They've come!" repeated Henrietta slowly.  "And whom do they want,
Ph[oe]be?  What do they say?"

'"Oh, they want Madame, to be sure, and Mistress Pauline--only,
they're gone.  And now we are all arrested.  I heard them say
so--Madame Fortescue, and all of you, arrested in the King's name.
Good-lack! good-lack!  We shall all be hanged, and burnt, and made
slaves, and what not.  I knew how it would be when that wicked,
murdering knave, Judge Jeffreys, came to Taunton.  Poor dear young
ladies! where shall we all be this time to-morrow?"

'Of course this question could only be answered by a chorus of sobs,
lamentations, and exclamations of all kinds, in the midst of which in
came Mrs. Fortescue, pale and grave as she had always been of late,
but with something in her face that looked almost more like
indignation than fear.  Her presence quieted us directly; and we
listened to her, and obeyed her in trembling silence, when she told
us to finish our dressing as quickly as possible, for that there was
a gentleman down-stairs who wished to put some questions to us.  She
stayed in the elder girls' room for a few moments after we left it,
and then we heard her go down-stairs, followed by the still weeping
Ph[oe]be.

'"Silly wench," Mrs. Fortescue was saying as they passed our door,
"what need is there for you to fret yourself in this way?  You are
safe enough.  Would we were all in such small peril!"

'The words rang in my ears.  We really were, then, in some great
danger.  It had not proceeded from Ph[oe]be's frightened imagination.
I clung to Bessie's side, when, having made ourselves ready, we at
length proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, downstairs, and whispered
to her imploringly to tell me what Mrs. Fortescue had said after we
younger girls had been sent back to our own room.

'"Ph[oe]be was right," she answered in a low, scared tone.  "Two of
the sheriff's officers have come, and we are all put under arrest for
having aided and abetted the Duke of Monmouth, they said, They spoke
very roughly to Mrs. Fortescue.  She scarcely knows what to fear.
Perhaps----"  But here Bessie broke off with a nervous start; for as
we reached the foot of the stairs the door of the north parlour
opened, and Mrs. Fortescue beckoned us in.  I thought, as I crept in
behind Bessie, of that fatal day when Pauline had told us of the
mysterious, ill-favoured stranger closeted with her mother in this
very room.  There were two strange men there this morning--one
decidedly ill-favoured, and both highly unprepossessing.

'One of the two was in the dress of a sheriff's officer; the other a
spare, mean-looking little man, in a suit of rusty black.  This man
did not even rise from his seat as we entered.  His companion had the
grace to make a sort of swaggering bow before he asked Bessie, the
tallest and eldest-looking amongst us, "whether she would be pleased
to tell him her name."  Poor Bessie!  "Elizabeth Davenant" was spoken
in such very low, tremulous tones that she was obliged to repeat it;
whereupon he smiled complacently, murmuring, "Ay, even so," while the
man in black noted it down on his tablets.  This proceeding struck me
with much awe; but think, what was my horror when I heard the next
question: "And which is the Countess of Desmond?"  Most unwillingly I
was pushed forward by Mary Seymour, and immediately my name was
inscribed upon the tablets, the sheriff's officer remarking
meanwhile, "Sooth to say, she is a mighty little lady."  How well I
remember the pang of mortification which these words gave me even
then, when I was absolutely quaking with fright.  He turned next to
Eleanor Page, and then to Henrietta, and so on, till all our names
had been noted down by the little man with the tablets.

'"And these are all of the pupils, madam?" demanded the sheriff's man
(Master Noakes his companion called him) of Mrs. Fortescue.

'"These are all," she repeated mechanically.

'"Very good, very good," Master Noakes proceeded, as with his back
against the wall, and his arms folded, he surveyed us all critically.
"And now, ladies, mayhap you'll be good enough to answer a few
questions that I'm going to put to you; and look you, I must have the
truth, and nothing more or less.  You won't find it easy to hoodwink
me, I warrant."

'These insolent words, and the threatening manner in which they were
spoken, made some of us grow white with terror, while others reddened
with indignation.  I saw Henrietta's hand clench involuntarily, and
she bit her lip till it bled.

'"Now, Mrs. Elizabeth Davenant," Master Noakes continued, "you can't
deny that you and all your schoolmates here presented a silk banner
to that notorious rebel and traitor the late Duke of Monmouth, when
he proclaimed himself king here on the twentieth of June last."

'"I have no wish to deny it, sir," replied Bessie, plucking up her
courage a little in her anger and offended pride.  "It was I myself
who gave the banner into the Duke's hand."

'"But on behalf of you all?  These ladies were all with you?"

'"Yes, all; that is, except Mistress Sidney."

'"And you all helped to deck out the house with flowers and garlands
the day that the Duke made his first entry into Taunton?"

'"All but Mistress Sidney, who would have nought to do with it."

'Master Noakes stared at Henrietta, and then smiled disagreeably, and
winked at his friend.

'"And pray, which among you worked this fine banner of yours?" was
his next question.

'I suppose I did not quite realize the danger of our position even
then, for I remember feeling more elated than frightened as I stepped
forward with the seven other girls, all older than myself, who had
joined in the embroidery of the banner.

'"What!  My Lady Desmond too?" remarked this detestable man in his
bold, familiar way.  "Can your little ladyship really do such dainty
handiwork?"

'"Yes, indeed, sir!" was my prompt and indignant reply.  "I worked
more than half the unicorn."  Whereupon Master Noakes laughed, and
Mrs. Fortescue gave a quick, uneasy glance towards me, as if somewhat
anxious to hear what more I might be going to communicate.  But
Master Noakes asked no more of me just then.  After putting one or
two questions to some of the other girls, he turned to Mrs.
Fortescue, saying:

'"Then, madam, as I notified to you just now, I am commanded to
arrest yourself and all these ladies in the King's name.  A guard
will be placed in the house, and no member of the household will
leave it until the King's pleasure be further known."

'Mrs. Fortescue only bent her head in reply to this speech; but I
fancied that there was a look of relief in her face, as if she had
expected something worse.  We all stood in dead silence for some
moments, hardly daring even to look at one another.  Ph[oe]be's news
had been only too true.  We were all prisoners--prisoners in our own
house!  And what the King's pleasure would be with regard to our
further disposal I longed to ask, but dared not.  But the worst had
not come, after all.  The little man in black broke the silence first
by rising and counselling Master Noakes to go on and make an end of
the affair as speedily as possible, as he had work enough before him,
and could afford to waste no more time.  I thought that making an end
of the affair must mean than they were going to take their departure,
and leave us to the care of the aforesaid guard, the idea of which
frightened me very much.  But no; they were not going away.  The
worst had not come, after all.  Master Noakes's next words made my
heart beat so fast, that I thought I should be choked.

'"I have a graver charge yet to bring forward," he said in a much
more peremptory tone than he had used hitherto.  "Mistress Davenant,
Mistress Sidney, and my little Lady Countess here, can you deny that
you knew of Monmouth's treasonable schemes full three days before he
landed at Lyme, and that you sent money to him through his agent,
Colonel Dare?"

'No one answered.  Bessie tried to speak, but her voice died away
into a whisper; and she could only cast an imploring, frightened
glance at Mrs. Fortescue, who, resolved to make one last effort on
behalf of her pupils, came forward and said in a tone of intense
earnestness:

'"Once more, sir, let me remind you that these poor children cannot
be answerable for the part they took in this matter.  Whatever they
have done, if not by Madame St. Aubert's express desire, was at least
with her permission.  You see what children, what mere babes, some of
them are.  What can such as they do for good or for ill in such high
matters?  It were surely the most cruel, shameful injustice----"

'"I pray you, madam, to hold your peace, and let them speak for
themselves," interrupted Master Noakes, waving his hand
authoritatively.

'"Let me at least say this much," persisted Mrs. Fortescue, not
daunted by his rough words and imperious manner: "Mistress Henrietta
Sidney neither gave money to Colonel Dare, nor had aught to do with
the decorations, or the banner; and as to her knowledge of the Duke's
coming, it was by simple chance that----"

'"No matter--no matter," quoth Master Noakes, cutting her short
again.  "She shall tell her own tale, I say.  Now then, mistress,"
and he beckoned imperiously to Henrietta.  "You heard what I said.
Come, speak out, yea or nay?"

'"I did know of the Duke of Monmouth's plot full three days before he
landed," she began firmly, after a moment's hesitation, "but I did
not----"

'"Pshaw! no 'buts;' we can't wait for 'buts.'  You admit that you did
know; that's quite enough."  Then he repeated his question to Bessie
and me, and the little man with the tablets jotted down our answers
as before, looking at us at the same time with a grim, half-amused,
half-contemptuous smile, which was more disagreeable than I can
describe.  A strange chill of fear crept over me when I had whispered
"yes" to Master Noakes's query.  For the first time I saw that the
danger coming upon us was very real and very near, and that there was
no one to save us from it.  I shall never forget how cold and sick
with terror I felt for the next few minutes.  It was a sensation that
I had never known before.  Bessie's answer was firm and frank--given
in one of her impulsive bursts of courage; and she made a vigorous
attempt to show Henrietta's innocence, and to take upon herself all
blame for my share in what Master Noakes called "these treasonable
doings;" but she was silenced as summarily as Mrs. Fortescue, and
Henrietta herself, had been.  And then at last we heard our
fate--part of our fate at least: we were to be taken to prison; to
jail!--and what would come afterwards we dreaded to imagine.  It was
for Judge Jeffreys to decide that,--Judge Jeffreys, of whom lately we
had not been able even to think without hatred and horror.  This
sentence overwhelmed us all three.  I burst into tears, and Bessie,
after struggling for a moment to control herself, did likewise.
Henrietta shed no tears: she made some incoherent, half-choked
exclamation, and then stood quite silent; while the colour faded
slowly out of her face, and she trembled so much that she was obliged
to lean against the wall.  Again Mrs. Fortescue tried to speak for
us, doing her best to keep back the bitter indignation that was
expressed plainly enough in her countenance.  But in vain she forced
herself to be calm and moderate, and to remonstrate as gently as
possible against the cruelty of shutting up young girls of our age
and rank in the common jail of Taunton.  In vain she implored that,
if we must go, she might be allowed to go with us; and, when that was
refused, tried to secure a promise that at least we should be placed
in a room by ourselves.  The terrible fever known to be raging in the
jail at this time was, she pleaded, reason enough for this--to say
nothing of the sort of companions among whom we were likely to be
thrown in such a place.  But not the slightest effect did these
arguments seem to have upon the two agents of Judge Jeffreys.  They
flatly refused to give the promise for which she begged so earnestly;
and as to allowing her to accompany us, that was quite out of the
question.  She must stay to superintend her own imprisoned household,
until it was settled what was to become of them.  After that, her
wish to see the inside of a jail might, doubtless, be complied with.
Then they urged us to make ready for departure, without more loss of
time; and Mrs. Fortescue, seeing that remonstrance was utterly
useless, and in fact only likely to make matters worse, led the way
out of the room, silently motioning to us to follow her--some crying
audibly, some clinging together, hardly venturing to exchange remarks
in half-stifled whispers, but all darting back nervous, anxious
glances to see if Master Noakes was keeping a close and watchful eye
on our movements.  Yes, there he was close behind us; but, to our
intense relief, he came no further than the first landing-place, and
there took up his station, contenting himself with shouting, now a
remark to his friend at the foot of the stairs, now an injunction to
us in the room above to bestir ourselves about our preparations, or
he would come and pack up our baggage himself.  Oh, what a relief it
was to shut the doors, and feel that at length we might speak without
every word we uttered being noted down; and what a scene of confusion
began now we were no longer under restraint.  Bessie gave way
entirely the instant she found herself in her own room.  She threw
herself upon the bed, and cried and sobbed so passionately that I
felt almost appalled.  This only was wanted to set flowing the tears
of a good many more among us,--of Agnes Blount among the rest, who
clung round my neck, weeping as if her heart would break.  I had
never before known how much we cared for each other.  Meanwhile,
moving about quietly amidst the buzz of voices, unmoved and
unhindered by the girls who chattered, the girls who cried, and the
girls who did nothing but stand in the way, Mrs. Fortescue, with the
help of Henrietta and one or two more, collected the few necessaries
that we were to take to our new quarters, and put them up together in
the smallest possible compass; then, this business completed, she
turned her attention to us.  And we certainly were in need of it; for
by this time Agnes's grief had infected me, and I was in almost as
deplorable a condition as Bessie.  Henrietta still kept her
self-command, but she did not make any attempt to comfort us.
Perhaps it was her intense shyness and reserve that stood in the way,
perhaps it was the fear of breaking down herself--I do not know
which; but all she did was to pause in her operations, and cast a
wistful look towards me now and then, as if she were longing to
speak, but dared not.  Oh, how I longed for mamma at that moment!  It
seemed to me that I had never missed her before as I did now--no, not
on that dismal day of my first coming to school.  Poor mamma! had she
any idea, I wondered, of the great trouble into which her unlucky
little daughter had fallen.

'You see, the penny postage had not even been dreamed of in those
days; and such a great event as the arrival of a letter had only
happened to me twice since my arrival at Madame St. Aubert's.  The
last epistle had been written just after Sedgemoor; and my mother,
little suspecting how my fortunes would be affected by that
disastrous battle, called it "that most happy and thank-worthy
dispensation of Providence," and bade me rejoice that the King's
enemies were scattered, and the arch-rebel Monmouth safe in the
Tower.  And I had written an answer to that letter, but Madame St.
Aubert had forbidden me to say anything about the Bible and the
banner; or indeed to make any allusion to the part which she and her
pupils had taken in the Duke's reception at Taunton.

'"During the disturbed state of the country," Madame said, "there was
no knowing what might become of the letter, so it was as well to be
as guarded as possible."

'When I thought of these things, I felt quite in despair about my
story ever coming to mamma's ears, while my longing for her became
more intense every minute.  Presently Mrs. Fortescue's cool, firm
hand was laid on my forehead, and then my arm was round her, and my
burning, tearful eyes hidden upon her shoulder.

'"Poor little maid," she said compassionately, "I would I could send
you safe back again to your mother.  But, please God, you will see
her before very long.  So cheer up, child; you have nothing serious
to fear--only a little hardship and discomfort for a few days, and
then you will go home, and all will be well.  They can't do any hurt
to children of your age.  All they want is a fine from your
parents,--a heavy one, doubtless; but yours are wealthy enough to pay
it, so you need have no fear.  Poor Bessie yonder," continued Mrs.
Fortescue, lowering her voice, "has most cause to be affrighted of
any of you."

'"Oh madam, why?" I asked, looking up suddenly into her face, which
was turned with an anxious, pitying expression towards the bed where
Bessie still lay quivering with sobs.

'"She has not rich parents, child, like you and Henrietta: she had
only her uncle to care for her, and he is in London under sentence of
death, and all his property confiscated.  Hush! do not tell her now;
she will know it soon enough, poor child.  I only learned it myself
this morning; and I tell you that you may see how Bessie wants
comfort yet more than yourself."

'"Yes indeed, madam," I whispered, and I dried my eyes resolutely,
and tried my best to feel fearless and defiant of Judge Jeffreys and
all his terrors.  "But oh, madam," I could not help saying from the
depths of my heart, "if they would but let you come with us."

'And then these words were scarcely out of my mouth when I felt
inclined to laugh; for the thought struck me that a few weeks ago I
could not have believed it possible that any one should really wish
for Mrs. Fortescue's company who had the chance of being without it.
Perhaps Mrs. Fortescue was thinking the same thing, for a sudden
smile lit up her face for a moment; but the next it was sad and
anxious as ever, and she said earnestly: "I would I might go with
you, sweetheart, only that perhaps I am as much needed here.  We are
all prisoners, you know--not so much better off than you, after all.
There!"--as another impatient summons from Master Noakes was heard
from the staircase--"we must not linger any more now.  God be with
you, child.  Don't be down-hearted; you have naught to blame yourself
for in this matter.  Say your prayers, and do your duty, and He will
deliver you from evil."

'I suppose it was Mrs. Fortescue's manner more than her words that
gave her so much influence over us all.  We had always looked upon
her as a person to be respected and obeyed; but ever since Madame's
disappearance, she had been more than this.  There was so much more
softness and gentleness about her, and yet at the same time so much
strength and spirit, that gave one a feeling of having some one to
lean upon as long as she was with us.  Her words had done me good;
and seeing that it was so, she bade me make ready for departure with
as much speed as possible, and then left me, to do what she could for
poor Bessie's consolation.  What she said, I did not know.  I only
saw her bend over the bed, and whisper for a moment or two; and then,
impetuous and sudden as usual, Bessie sprang up and threw her arms
round Mrs. Fortescue's neck with no more ceremony than if it had been
mine.  Just then came another of Master Noakes's resounding shouts,
which were beginning to follow one another at shorter and shorter
intervals, becoming every time louder and more peremptory.  Mrs.
Fortescue returned the kiss; and then, quietly unclasping Bessie's
arms, began to twist up her pretty fair hair, which was in the
wildest state of disorder possible.  I think I never saw hair so
nearly golden as Bessie's, nor did I ever see any with such a
propensity for tumbling down.  Ten minutes was the utmost length of
time that those golden locks of hers had been known to keep smooth
and in their place,--even Pauline's skill had failed in achieving
more than this; and as for Mrs. Fortescue's hurried attempts to
arrange them, the result would have sent us into fits of laughter at
any other time: but just now nothing was a laughing matter.

'All was ready at last, and Mrs. Fortescue was trying to cut the
numerous farewells as short as possible, and to impress upon the
other girls that they were on no account to follow us down-stairs,
when all last words were suddenly and effectually broken off by the
tramp of heavy footsteps in the passage, and the sound of Master
Noakes's voice actually close to the door.

'"Not a minute more will I tarry, ladies; so, if your baggage is not
ready, you must e'en come without it.  D'ye hear?"

'Mrs. Fortescue quietly opened the door, and, in her very haughtiest
and most coldly polite manner, motioned him towards the staircase,
saying that we were all ready to start whenever it might be his
pleasure to do so, and suggesting that he should lead the way
down-stairs.  I hardly know what passed after that.  An odd sort of
vague, dreamy feeling came over me as if I was walking in my sleep,
or as if I was not myself.  A most uncomfortable sensation it was,
like nothing I had ever felt before; and though I suppose it must
have been brought on by fright, yet somehow I was less conscious of
fear than at first.  I began to fancy that perhaps, after all, it was
only a dream, and that I should wake up presently and find that there
had never been a rebellion at all, and that everything was going on
as usual again.  I was still in this curious kind of dreamy state
when I left Madame St. Aubert's house, never to enter it again.

'I remember hearing Mrs. Fortescue beg that we might be allowed to
wait for some breakfast.  It had never entered my head till then that
we had eaten nothing that morning--indeed I do not think any of us
remembered it; and when Master Noakes refused, I believe the only
person who really cared was Mrs. Fortescue.  I did not feel hungry at
all, only dull and stunned, and almost indifferent.  I did not cry
now when Mrs. Fortescue kissed me, though Bessie was half choked with
her uncontrollable sobs; and for the first time I saw Henrietta's
eyes swimming.

'She answered with a silent nod to Mrs. Fortescue's last hurried
whisper, "Take care of them, Henrietta.  I trust to you."  And when
the door had closed on Mrs. Fortescue, and we were actually in the
conveyance provided by Master Noakes and his friend the notary, still
that strange sense of being in a dream could not be shaken off.  I
gazed out at the well-known streets as we drove through the town, and
tried to realize that we were indeed being carried to a prison; and
then I looked at Bessie's tearful face opposite, and wondered at
myself for feeling so apathetic.  We drew up at last before a large,
gloomy brick building, which I had seen only once before, and had
looked upon with great awe and interest as "the jail," little
dreaming then that the time was near when I myself should be entering
those heavy iron gates, and lodging behind one of those dismal grated
windows.  The man who opened the door led us into a long dreary room,
that looked almost empty, the only furniture being a table littered
over with papers and parchments, and one or two wooden benches.  Then
Master Noakes, after talking with the man aside for a few minutes,
and pulling out a paper (the order for our arrest, I suppose),
announced that he was going to wait on the governor; and forthwith
marched out of the room.  We were left meanwhile under the charge of
the little notary, who took not the slightest notice of us, but
amused himself by sitting upon the table and examining carefully
every one of the documents that were lying there.

'One or two words I had caught that had passed between Master Noakes
and the porter--something about "no space, and the jail being as full
as it would hold already;" and I fancied that perhaps they might not
be able to take us in, after all, and that we should be sent back to
Mrs. Fortescue.  If it had not been for the presence of the notary, I
should have asked Bessie or Henrietta; but there seemed a kind of
spell upon me while I watched him sitting so silently upon the table,
turning over the papers with such absorbing interest.  So I said
nothing, and sat leaning my head upon Henrietta's shoulder until I
really think I should have fallen asleep, had not Master Noakes
suddenly made his appearance again, bringing with him the governor of
the jail.  He was a worn, sharp-featured, and by no means
good-humoured-looking person, and yet somehow I did not dislike his
face.  Not that he seemed to pity us in the least: he only stared at
us with a perplexed, annoyed kind of look, and then said in a
fretful, injured tone, as if he alone was the ill-used person:

'"So ill-considered to bring them here just now! when I scarcely know
how to bestow those who are already here.  His worship should have
some reason in his commands.  I tell you, sir, that the place is
packed to overflowing as it is; and what with the fever too, 'tis
enough to drive a man almost out of his wits."

'"That is no business of mine," replied the notary, getting off the
table to salute the governor.  "The order for the arrest of these
young ladies is signed, as you see, by the Lord Chief-Justice
himself.  You won't care to go against that, I fancy."

'"But the house is to be guarded too, you say: why cannot they remain
there?"

'The notary drew his companion away from our end of the room, and
whispered in his ear.  I could only catch the words "wealthy
parents," which I remembered because I had heard Mrs. Fortescue use
the same expression; and then he added in rather a louder tone:
"Colonel Dare openly boasted that he was in communication with
members of families of distinction residing in Taunton, even before
the landing of the Duke of Monmouth.  It has been proved that
Elizabeth Davenant, Henrietta Sidney, and Frances Countess of Desmond
were among the number.  They supplied him with money, and were privy
to the secret of the Duke's intended landing, three days before it
took place.  The rest of Madame St. Aubert's pupils are only accused
of working and presenting a banner, as you doubtless remember."

"I remember the fact of the banner being presented," was the reply.
"But what became of the governess?"

'"She passed Kirke's outposts by means of a bribe, and got safe off
to France," replied this dreadful little notary, who appeared to know
everything.  "She escaped just in time too; for 'twas only the day
after, that orders came down from London that no exceptions were to
be made to the rule of arresting suspected persons.  And not too soon
either: Kirke was getting very lax.  The law should be allowed to
take its just course, sir, without all these exceptions and
relaxations."

'"The law will have plenty to do here, then," said the governor in
the same peevish tone of voice he had used before.  "Three hundred
prisoners here already; and to ask me to take in more!  Well, I
cannot gainsay your order, sir; but if these be ladies of quality,
they will scarce relish the company I shall be forced to give them."

'"Prisoners must not expect good company," said the notary, glancing
at us carelessly.  "As long as you have them in safe keeping, his
lordship will be satisfied.  Master Noakes, it is time we were going.
I wish you a good morning, sir; and the same to you, ladies."  And,
saluting us with something between a touch of the hat and a nod,
Master Noakes and his companion strode out of the room.

'I was so much relieved to see them disappear, and to hear the
ponderous door close after them, that my spirits rose again
considerably; and in spite of the presence of the governor I ventured
to whisper, "Oh Bessie, I am so hungry; couldn't you ask if we might
have some breakfast?"

'The governor did not make any objection, though he looked as if
Bessie was asking a great favour when she made the request in rather
a trembling voice.  I thought him what I called "cross," but I really
believe now he was as kind to us as he dared to be, and kinder than
prison rule permitted.  He took us to his wife, who made us very
comfortable, gave us plenty to eat, and petted me so much that I
began to cry when the turnkey arrived to take us away from her.  All
my fright came back at the sight of his face and the sound of his
jingling keys.  "Why can't we stay here, madam?" I sobbed, taking
fast hold of my new friend's gown.  "I shouldn't mind being in
prison, if we might.  We would promise not to run away; and you might
lock the door whenever you went out of the room.  I don't want to see
any more strange people; let me stay with you."

'"My poor little maid, I wish I could keep you," she said, kissing
me.  "But it is impossible.  I should only be bringing you and all of
us into trouble.  I have kept you over long as it is, I am afraid."
So saying, she thrust a cake into my hand, patted me on the shoulder,
and pushed me gently towards Bessie, who put her arm round me, and
led me from the room.  I went on crying all the time we were
following the turnkey through many long, dark stone passages, up
steps and down steps, round corners and past closed doors, from
behind which echoed noises, which caused us to quicken our steps to a
run till we were safe out of hearing.  At last our guide stopped
before one of these, and began turning over his bunch to find the
right key.

'"Oh, not there!" exclaimed Bessie in dismay; for the sounds of loud
talking, shrill laughter, quarrelling, and swearing came to our ears
so plainly, that even Henrietta looked frightened, and Bessie covered
her ears with her hands to shut out the noise.

'"This is the women's ward," said the turnkey as he fitted one of his
keys into the lock.  "And here you will have to stay until your case
comes on for trial."

'"If we could have a room to ourselves!" began Henrietta imploringly,
pulling out her purse as she spoke.  (She was the only one of us who
had been sensible enough to bring one.)

'"'Tis impossible, mistress," said the jailer--"for to-night, at
least.  Well," as she put some money into his hand, "perhaps
to-morrow there may be a room vacant.  Folk don't stay very long here
in these days."  He gave a kind of ghastly grin as he spoke; and
Henrietta turned suddenly away from him, looking quite white and
sick.  Then the heavy door began to creak on its hinges, and
presently we found ourselves face to face with our fellow-prisoners.
The noisy tongues stopped the moment the door was opened, and all
heads were turned to look at us.  Very confusing we found it to be
stared at by so many pairs of eager eyes at once.  The room, large as
it was, seemed to me, at the first glance, to be quite full of
people.  There were women of all ages there--from eighteen to
eighty--and of all ranks, too, apparently; for though most of them
were rough, hard-featured, and bold-looking, there were some who were
evidently ladies, and who seemed nearly as ill at ease as we felt
ourselves to be.  But there were no children, and a murmur of
compassion ran through the crowd when they saw me.  I suppose I did
look very dismal; for my face was covered with tears, and I held
Bessie with a sort of desperate clutch, as if she was my only
protection, and our new abode a den of wild beasts.  When the turnkey
had shut the door behind us and gone away, a chorus of exclamations
and questions was showered down upon us, which had the effect of
frightening me more than ever, until I discovered that they were all
of a friendly nature; and, in fact, that every one seemed to pity me
nearly as much as I pitied myself.  "Poor child!  What a babe to be
here!  What has she done?"  "One of my Lord Jeffrey's arrests, of
course."  "'Tis a cruel shame.  She can't be more than ten years old."

'"What's your name, my little mistress?" asked several voices; and in
spite of my fright I managed to sob out: "Frances Dalrymple--I mean
Cary; and I was eleven last birthday."

'This piece of information was received with a burst of laughter,
which quite checked my desire for making any more confidences; and I
left Henrietta and Bessie to answer all the numerous questions which
followed.  Quite a little crowd collected round us to hear our story;
and every one was loud in expressing indignation at the injustice of
our arrest.  But their sympathy alarmed me almost as much as
everything else about them.  They called the Lord Jeffreys such
dreadful names.  One woman swore, and clenched her fist whenever she
mentioned him; and they became so excited and talked so loud when
they began telling their own misfortunes, that I was glad when they
got tired of talking to us, and one by one sauntered off to join
other groups, and we were left in our corner unmolested.  What a
long, dreary morning that was!  The only break in its monotony was
the arrival of dinner, when we sat amidst a long row of our
companions at the great deal table, and were served with bowls of
greasy, watery broth, in which little bits of mutton were floating
about.  I was not at all hungry, but I was nevertheless both
surprised and horrified when my next neighbour plunged her spoon into
my bowl, and carried off the greater part of my meat.  What remained
looked less inviting than ever; so I begged her to take it all if she
liked, and I ate the cake the governor's wife had given me instead.
The girl looked slightly ashamed of herself when she saw Henrietta's
eyes fixed upon her from the other side of the table, and turning to
me, asked if I had had enough to eat.  I said, "Yes, thank you," very
politely.  I was so afraid of her, that I think I should have said
"yes" at any rate.  But when I looked at her thin, pale face, I did
not grudge her my dinner in the least, she looked so starved and
miserable.

'"I thought you looked as if you did not care for it," she said.
"When you have been here as long as I have, you will learn to take
what is put before you the minute you get it, and be glad enough of
it too."

'I could not help wondering whether I should also learn to take what
was put before other people.  But of course I did not dare to say so,
and she went on in a tone of apology:

'"I'm just getting well of the fever.  That's what makes me so
hungry, I suppose.  I never do get enough to eat here."

'"Were you very ill?" I ventured to ask, feeling rather sorry that I
had eaten my cake so quickly.

"Yes; I believe so.  I don't remember much about it.  They told me I
nearly died.  There was one in the next bed to me that did."

'Bessie, who sat on the other side of me, gave a little start as she
heard these words; but she did not say anything, and the girl went on.

'"I wished then that I had died too.  I should have been out of this
place then; but somehow I got better and better, and to-day I have
come in here for the first time."

'"How long have you been in prison?" I asked, getting quite
interested.

'"Ever since two days after the Battle of Sedgemoor."

'"Oh, how dreadful!  And why?"

'"Because I gave the Duke of Monmouth a loaf of bread when he changed
his clothes at my father's house, and bade God speed him," she
replied.  "And the next day the soldiers came looking for him, and
father let it all out.  So they took us both away, and brought me
here; and what became of father I don't know to this day.  I have
never seen him since."

'By this time I had quite forgiven the loss of my dinner, and was not
at all surprised when Bessie leant across me, with tears in her eyes,
to say:

'"Oh, I'm so glad you did that!  How proud you must feel of it.  I
would have given anything to have helped the Duke so."

'"It did him no good, poor gentleman," said the girl.  "He was found,
for all the pains we took to disguise him; and the King had him
beheaded.  Ah! well.  I felt very sorry when I heard it first; for he
was a kind gentleman, and a well-favoured.  But I don't care now.  He
has brought so much trouble on us all, that I almost feel to hate
him."

'"But he did not know.  How could he guess that there would be all
these dreadful executions?  The King is responsible for them, not
he," said Bessie, eager as ever in defence of her hero.  "Besides he
was fighting for his rights.  Oh, I wish I had been able to do
something for him!"

'"Don't talk to me of his rights!" said the girl fiercely.  "If it
had not been for him, I should have been at home and happy at this
day; and so would you, and many another poor creature.  Besides, what
are his rights compared to all our lives, I should like to know?"

'"But surely, surely," cried I, "they can't punish you very much for
merely giving him a loaf of bread?"

'"You don't know what you are talking of," she replied gloomily.
"Haven't you heard enough about Judge Jeffreys since he has been in
Taunton, to know that there is no punishment too hard for him to
give, unless he is well paid to be merciful.  You are ladies of
quality: you will get off well enough, I warrant me; but I come of
poor folk, and there is no greater crime than that in his eyes."

'I thought of what Mrs. Fortescue had said, and a chill crept over
me.  I sat quite silent all the rest of dinner-time, conjuring up all
the dreadful stories I had heard from Ph[oe]be of Judge Jeffreys'
cruelties.  I thought of the men and women he had pilloried and
flogged; of the twenty-nine men who were executed at Dorchester in a
single day; of Mrs. Gaunt; of Lady Lisle; and of many another story
too horrible to repeat to you, until I felt quite sick with fright.
"What could be done to save Bessie from the hands of this wicked
man?"  I pondered vainly for some time; but suddenly a bright idea
struck me, which I resolved to confide to Henrietta the moment dinner
was over.  I did not want Bessie to hear; so I felt rather glad that
she went on talking to the pale girl, and allowed me to slip from her
side after dinner without taking any notice.  Then I pulled Henrietta
away into a corner of the room, and poured out all my fears.  That
they were but too well founded, I saw directly from her face.  She,
too, had heard what Mrs. Fortescue told me of the fate of poor Sir
Geoffrey Davenant.  Bessie stood in real, terrible peril; there was
no doubt about it.  Henrietta trembled all over when she said this,
but she begged me not to let Bessie know.

'"She must be saved," said Henrietta in a quick, agitated tone.  "I
don't know how; but, in some way or other, it shall be done."

'"Don't you think, Henrietta," I said, keeping my voice steady with
great difficulty, "that if my father and mother are as rich as
everybody says they are, they could pay the ransom for Bessie as well
as for me?  I could write and tell them all about it, and----"

'"Yes, to be sure.  What a good thought, Frances!  What was I about,
not to think of it before?  I'll write to my father too.  Perhaps
between them they might manage.  They might petition the King.  We
won't despair.  There are many worse off than we are, child."

'"Where shall we get paper and pens and ink?" I said, longing to
begin, but casting a despairing glance round the room which was bare
of any furniture but the table, and a couple of long benches on
either side of it.

'"I have got them all in my trunk.  Mrs. Fortescue thought of that,"
replied Henrietta.  "She never forgets anything, I believe."

'It was a great comfort to have something to do.  My fears for Bessie
did not make me quite so unhappy when I was telling mamma all about
them.  Writing home made me feel less lonely; and, besides, there was
the hope (I tried hard to think the certainty) that an answer to my
petition would set all our misgivings at rest, and prove that my
father was able and willing to pay any amount of money rather than
that a hair of Bessie's head should be injured.

'Thus the afternoon slipped away much more quickly than the morning
had done.  Writing a letter was a serious business, and absorbed all
our attention.  Even Henrietta, who was considered one of the most
accomplished of Madame St. Aubert's young ladies, proceeded very
slowly, and paused a long time when she had to spell a difficult
word; while, as for my epistle, it was so disfigured by blots, tears,
bad writing, and mistakes, that I began to have grave doubts, as I
went down, whether mamma would be able to read it.  Then I had to
consider what I had better say to interest my father in Bessie's
case.  I was so afraid of him, that I doubt if anything short of
Bessie's danger would have made me bold enough to ask him a favour;
but I would have done anything for her, and so I laboured away till
my fingers were soaked with ink, and my head ached with composing
sentences that should be as respectful as mamma could think
necessary, and at the same time as urgent as I could make them.

'Bessie came to see what we were doing after a time, and said
mournfully that her writing to her uncle was of no use, for she did
not know where he was.  She had never heard a word from him since the
Battle of Sedgemoor.  I was so afraid that she would see what I had
written about poor Sir Geoffrey, that I put my arm on my letter,
while I drew Bessie down to give her an affectionate kiss, and in
consequence made the blots ten times worse.  Then I laughed
hysterically; and if it had not been for the example set me by
Henrietta's grave face, I should have revealed the whole truth then
and there.

'"How do you mean to send the letter?" asked Bessie, when she had
comforted me for the blots by the assurance that mamma would not care.

'"I shall give them to the jailer next time I see him," replied
Henrietta, "and beg him to give them into the keeping of the first
letter-carrier that rides from Taunton.  I think he will do it,
especially if I give him a little money.  He was not nearly so rough
with us as that dreadful Master Noakes."

'"Don't let any one see you, then," said Bessie, lowering her voice.
"That girl I was talking to but a moment ago, told me there are some
women here who will never rest till they get every farthing of your
money, if you let them find out that you have any.  They bribe the
jailer to get them drink whenever they can scrape a little money
together, and then the noise they make is fearful."

'Bessie glanced, as she spoke, to the further end of the room, where
sat a group of those women who had frightened us so much in the
morning by their loud voices and reckless language.  They were
playing cards with a very greasy pack, and had done little else but
quarrel over their game ever since dinner.  The noise they made was
distracting enough now, and what it would be when they were excited
by drink we trembled to imagine.  Alas! we knew only too well before
the evening was over; for though Henrietta's purse remained safe
hidden in her bosom, the prisoners found some other means of getting
what they wanted, and the scene which ensued is beyond my power to
describe.  I do not suppose any of us were as fastidious as you would
be now.  For a gentleman to drink more wine than was good for him,
was so sadly common in those days, that we had all seen instances of
it in our own homes or amongst our father's guests; but the revel
which was held in that wretched room was unlike anything we had ever
seen before.  We could only cower into a corner and try to remain
blind and deaf to the shouts, the songs, the fighting, and
quarrelling that were going on around us, and which continued, it
seemed to me, hour after hour, until sleep overpowered the most noisy
of the revellers, and they sank down, one after another, on the heaps
of straw, which were their only beds.  Silence reigned again, broken
only by the deep snores which announced that our dreaded companions
would alarm us no longer.  The rest of the prisoners soon followed
their example; and we were left the only wakeful ones, talking in
frightened whispers, and not daring to move from our cramped
position, lest we should rouse some of those still shapeless figures
which lay ranged around the floor.  How strange it was to sit there
in the dim light watching the shadows grow blacker as the moon rose
and peeped in at the high, narrow window.  Bessie's golden hair
looked pale and unnatural as the cold, white light fell upon it; and
I hardly knew the pale, grave face for the same as the merry, bright
one I loved so well.  Yes, that night was indeed a miserable one.
Even now it makes me quite melancholy whenever I think of it.  I
remember falling repeatedly into a kind of half-doze, and waking with
a violent start each time from the same dream.  I thought Master
Noakes was trying to push me down-stairs.  I did at last fall into a
restless, uncomfortable sleep for a few hours, but all the time I
never seemed quite to forget where I was; and when I woke at dawn, it
was with a consciousness of something terrible hanging over me,
though I could not at first distinctly recall what it was.  So I
raised my head from Henrietta's lap (it was on Bessie's I had gone to
sleep), and looked round the great dismal room.  Everything rushed
back into my mind in a moment then: all the painful events of the day
before--the past trouble and fear, and, what was yet worse, the dread
of what might be to come.  Henrietta was awake: she was sitting
upright, supporting herself against the stone wall, and looking
miserably white and tired, as if she had not slept the whole night.

'"Why Henrietta?" I began.

'"Hush! don't disturb her;" and she pointed to Bessie, who was lying
with her head resting on one arm.  "She is sleeping more quietly now,
but for a long time she moaned and muttered, and tossed about so
restlessly, that I was quite frightened.  I was obliged to move your
head on to my knee, for fear she should wake you."

'"But, Henrietta," I whispered, "have not you been asleep at all
yourself?"

'"Oh yes; I believe I slept for a little while, until Bessie woke me
by muttering in such a strange way.  I am afraid she must be ill.
Look at her cheek, how flushed it is now."

'It was indeed burning with a scarlet, unnatural flush, quite unlike
her own soft, pink colour, which always reminded one of the petals of
a wood anemone.  Suddenly, as I looked at her, came into my mind what
Mrs. Fortescue had said about the terrible fever at the jail, and the
fear of infection; and I thought of that poor girl who was just
recovering from it, and to whom Bessie and I had talked so much at
dinner the day before.  Somehow, the very serious risk that we ran
had never struck me until this moment; but now that I did realize it,
a perfect panic of fear began to overwhelm me.

'"Oh Henrietta!" I cried, springing to my feet.  "She is going to
have the fever.  I know she is.  Oh poor, poor Bessie!  Perhaps she
will die; and we shall all catch it, and die too.  Oh mamma!  I must
go home to mamma.  I cannot stay in this horrible place any longer;"
and then I clung to Henrietta's neck, and sobbed in a kind of
helpless, wretched way, feeling utterly unable to stop myself.

"'Hush! hush! sweetheart: think of Bessie," she whispered
imploringly.  "And the others too; they would be so angry if we woke
them."

'But I was too far gone to control myself; and seeing this, Henrietta
made no further attempt to check my sobs, but held me in her arms,
and let me smother them on her shoulder.  Bessie still slept on, in
spite of my sudden outburst, and none of our fellow-prisoners gave
any sign of being awake.

'"Frances," said Henrietta gently, after a little while, when I began
to be somewhat calmer, "we must not forget our prayers, must we,
though we are in such a place as this?  Don't you think we might say
them now, while it is all quiet, and there is no one to interrupt us?"

'She spoke with a sort of shyness and hesitation, as if it was an
effort to talk of such a subject even to me, child as I was, and in
the dim light of early morning.  "If you please," I murmured; and we
knelt and said the Lord's Prayer softly together, and then part of
the Litany: "In all time of our tribulation, in all time of our
wealth, in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment, good Lord
deliver us!"  It was the first time that I had ever said that passage
with all my heart.

'When we had finished, I glanced at Henrietta's face, and there was
something in her eyes, as they met mine, which made me, with a sudden
impulse, give her such a kiss as I would have given Bessie.

'"I think you will not be so unhappy now, will you, dear Fan?" she
said, returning it warmly, and stroking my hair; and I answered
earnestly, "No, indeed;" for the mere effort of trying to repeat the
well-known words that I had been used to say reverently night and
morning, ever since I could remember, had soothed my paroxysm of
grief and fright, and reminded me that our Father in Heaven was
caring for us still, and that, under His protection, we might "dwell
safely, and be quiet from fear of evil."

'"He will deliver us," murmured Henrietta, "sooner or later; so we
will not frighten ourselves by looking forward to what may happen.
We will make up our minds to hope for the best; shall we?  You know
the jailer half promised to give us a room to ourselves to-day.  Oh,
what a boon that would be!"

'This hope made me feel quite cheerful; and we sat talking in
under-tones about our letters, and the possibility of persuading the
jailer to forward them, until the sleepers around us began, one after
another, to awake, roused by the returning sunbeams, which were now
lighting up the room.

'It was not until all the rest were up and moving about--by no means
noiselessly--that Bessie at last awoke.  She had continued to sleep
heavily--nothing seeming to disturb her in the least degree--until an
old woman, with a particularly shrill, not to say cracked voice,
struck up the old cavalier song of "The King shall enjoy his own
again," which she elaborated with various trills, turns, and
quaverings; and then at length poor Bessie gave a startled cry and
sprang to her feet, almost before she had opened her eyes.  She was
quite well, she said, except for a little headache, but it was easy
to see that it was by no means such a little one; and when the
breakfast of somewhat watery porridge and dry bread made its
appearance, she turned away with a shudder, declaring that she would
starve rather than touch a mouthful.  The morning passed away much as
the day before had done.  By Henrietta's wise suggestion we had made
our toilets, as well as we could under the circumstances, before our
companions had roused themselves enough to take any notice of us; but
when Bessie began to plait her hair, and opened the trunk to take out
our little mirror, a regular crowd was round her in a minute.  It was
just like our poultry-yard at home when mamma went out with her apron
full of corn.  The mirror was very soon taken out of her hands, and
seemed to have but a small chance of returning to them.  I suppose we
must have been the only people in the room who possessed such a
treasure; for it brought about so much pushing and jostling, and even
fighting, among the women to whom Bessie had yielded it, that at last
it was cracked right across, after which they became more quarrelsome
than ever.  Meanwhile some amused themselves by diving into our
unfortunate little trunk, until every one of its contents had been
pulled out and examined.  One or two women interfered on our behalf,
but this only made the wrangling worse; and Henrietta and I looked on
in helpless dismay, while Bessie went on braiding her pretty golden
locks in a sort of dull, indifferent way, as if she felt too languid
to care either for the loss of her mirror, or the ransacking of her
chest.

'But suddenly, in the midst of the commotion, there was a sound which
silenced all the tongues in a moment, and made our eyes turn towards
the door.  There was a grating of the bolts, and a rattling of the
key in the lock, and yet it was not nearly time for dinner.  Was it
only some new prisoner, or was it a summons, coming to one of
ourselves, to the bar of the terrible Lord Chief-Justice?  I remember
quite well the intensely painful look of expectation upon all the
faces round the room when the door opened, and the various murmurs of
surprise, relief, and pity that sounded in our ears when we three
were called upon to follow the turnkey.

'"So soon! the latest comers of all!  Ay! well.  May we never see
them back again; that's the best luck I can wish them!"

'"Nay, neighbour, there are worse places than this, evil though it
be," said the musical old woman; and the words made me shiver.

'"I wish you well through your troubles, my little lady," said the
girl with whom I had made friends the day before.  She had been
collecting those little possessions of ours that had been strewn
about the floor; and now she was helping us to arrange the hoods and
mantles, which, by counsel of the turnkey, we were hastily throwing
on.  "I will try and take care of your goods there," she said,
glancing towards the trunk; and then, as I thanked her, she bent down
and added in a hurried whisper: "I was awake this morning when you
were saying your prayers; it made me think of my own again.  Tell
her" (and she nodded to Henrietta).  "Fare ye well: and God bless you
all."

'I did not shrink from her now as I might have done an hour ago.  In
my present terror I had forgotten all about the fever; but, ah! how
sick at heart I felt when I heard the door close, and knew that we
were really on our way to a court of justice--that in a few minutes
more we should be in the presence of the merciless Judge Jeffreys!
And when we actually stood in the court itself, and above the hum of
many voices all around us the tones of some one declaiming in hoarse,
fierce accents reached us from an open doorway, a cold agony of
horror came over me, that was positive pain.  I leaned against
Henrietta and gasped with fright.

'"Courage, sweetheart," she whispered.  "Indeed you have no need for
all this fear.  He cannot do anything so very terrible to you.  If he
does say a few rough words, they will very soon be over.  Surely you
are brave enough to bear that.  Think what much worse things some
people have suffered, and how bravely too!"  Her voice was so steady
and cheerful, and she looked down into my face with such a bright
reassuring smile, that I felt for a moment a little bit relieved.
What I should have done without her during those wretched moments of
waiting, I cannot say.  I thought afterwards that I should almost
have died with terror then, if it had not been for the sense of
comfort that it gave me to feel her hand clasping mine, and her arm
round my waist.

'Fond as I was of Bessie, I had never had the same feeling of
confidence and protection when I was with her that Henrietta's
presence had begun to give me.

'Poor Bessie!  I had scarcely looked at her since we left the prison,
so much had my fears absorbed me.  I was not, like Henrietta, strong
and brave and unselfish enough to think of other people in the midst
of our anxiety; and we had been waiting some time in that crowded
ante-room, before I bethought myself of looking to see how she was
faring.  Then, greatly to my astonishment, I saw that she was
speaking to some one among the throng of prisoners awaiting their
trial, and at the next glance I recognised her acquaintance as no
other than our good old vicar, Dr. Power.  His face, as he turned to
greet us, looked sadly changed,--no longer ruddy, and beaming with
mirth and good-humour, but mournful and haggard, and full ten years
older than when we had seen him last.

'"Poor children! poor children!" he muttered.  "It grieves me to the
soul to see you here.  A babe like thee, too.  Shame, shame on them!"
he went on, looking compassionately at my tearful, frightened face.
"But take courage, little maid.  It can be but a matter of a few
thousand pounds or so, to set you free again."

'"Ay, for her--for both of them," murmured Bessie.  "But, oh!  Dr.
Power, tell me the truth," and she spoke in a hurried, terrified
whisper, grasping his gown in her earnestness.  "_I_ cannot pay a
fine, you know--I have only my uncle; and he is gone, no one knows
whither.  What will they do to me?  You will tell me the truth, won't
you?  What will they--what can they do?" she repeated piteously,
looking up at him with an imploring, eager, almost wild, expression
in her blue eyes.  There was not much encouragement to be gathered
from his countenance.

'"Alack! alack! alack!" he said, looking intensely distressed.  "My
poor child, what can I tell you?  Faith, I know no more than
yourself.  Would to God I had never had a hand in bringing all this
sorrow upon you.  And now I am powerless, quite powerless, to help
you out of it.  It breaks my heart!"  He sighed heavily, and stood
for some moments with his eyes fixed upon the ground.  Then, turning
to Bessie suddenly again: "Child," said he, "I fear I can do nought
to help you.  Nay, mayhap it may rather harm you to be seen
conversing with me now.  So fare ye well.  The only piece of counsel
that I can give you, is to plead for yourself."

'"Plead with _him_?" quoth the jailer under whose charge we were.
"By your leave, sir, that's no wise counsel of yours.  Far better
tell her to hold her peace.  What!"--here he sank his voice to a
significant whisper, and raised his eyebrows expressively--"you don't
know my Lord Chief-Justice better than that!"

'"Nay, surely even he, ruffian as he is, can scarce refuse to
hear----"  Dr. Power did not finish his sentence, but laid his hand
affectionately on Bessie's head.  She was looking then as she had
looked on that fatal day when the banner was presented to Monmouth,
only more beautiful.  It struck me even at that moment, and I
understood what Dr. Power meant.  Fear and excitement had heightened
the colour in her cheek, instead of taking it away, and added a
feverish brightness to her eyes.  I have never in my life seen any
one so lovely as Bessie looked just then.  Nevertheless the jailer
only smiled a rather compassionate but yet more contemptuous smile,
and shrugged his shoulders.  He evidently had a very low opinion of
Dr. Power's judgment in this matter.

'This unexpected meeting had made me in some degree forget my qualms;
but that space of relief was only too soon over: and, oh! how my
heart sank again when the moment came at last, and we were told to
follow the jailer into court.  All the former dread swept over me now
stronger than ever.  Dr. Power's farewell, "God be with you, my
children, and preserve you.  I doubt we shall never meet again!"
hardly reached my ears.  I certainly did not take in its meaning at
the time; though afterwards the words came back to me with a pang,
for the foreboding was a true one.  I never saw him again.

'I clung to Henrietta's waist, and trembled so violently, that I
believe she must have half carried me into the court.  When I try to
recall what was going on around us, everything seems in a mist until
the moment when I found myself standing at the bar between Bessie and
Henrietta.  If you have set your hearts upon a vivid description of a
court of justice, and a minute history of all the proceedings that
took place there that morning, I am afraid you will be disappointed,
because I have only an extremely vague impression of the whole scene.
There was an immense room, an immense crowd of people; but the whole
crowd--sheriff, mayor, lawyers, witnesses, and spectators--all looked
like one hazy vision.  Only one out of those rows and rows of faces
did I see distinctly apart from the rest; and that was a face not
soon forgotten by those who had once seen it.  No; it only required a
glance at those keen, fierce, deep-set eyes and scowling brows, and
that savage, repulsive mouth, to enable one to recognise the Lord
Chief-Justice.  I recollect the rough, heavy tones with which he
bawled out a command to "speak louder" when my name was asked, and I
stammered out a timid, tremulous reply.  His voice alone
half-frightened me out of my wits; and, oh! the oath which he used,
and the epithets which he bestowed on me and my father! (when at
length, with a desperate effort, I did manage to pronounce my name
audibly).  I would not shock your ears by repeating them.  The next
thing I remember is, that some papers were read, which of course must
have been the evidence taken down by the notary upon the day of our
arrest; and then a string of rapid questions were put to us that were
answered for the most part by Henrietta and Bessie--the same
questions chiefly that had been asked us before by Master Noakes.
Then some witnesses were called up and examined--some of Madame St.
Aubert's servants, and two men who seemed to have been friends of
Colonel Dare's.  Of what they all said, I have not the least
recollection.  I only remember the blustering insolent way in which
the Lord Chief-Justice from time to time interrupted them--sometimes
bursting in with a furious oath, sometimes with a volley of abuse,
sometimes with a horrible jest.  I believe our examination lasted a
very little while in reality--much less time than we had stayed
waiting in the ante-room; but to me it seemed hours.

'We pleaded guilty to all the charges that were laid against us, only
that Henrietta denied having given money to Colonel Dare, or having
either helped in the working or presentation of Monmouth's luckless
banner; whereupon she was silenced with a shower of foul language,
that made us ready to sink into the earth with horror.  When,
however, at length we heard our sentence, the first thought that
struck me was, that it was not such a very terrible one, after all.
An order was given that our fathers or guardians were to be called
upon immediately for the sum of ten thousand pounds apiece, in fine,
for the "high crime and misdemeanour" of which we confessed ourselves
guilty.  This sum, over and above the seven thousand pounds which was
the ransom for the rest of Madame St. Aubert's pupils, was the
punishment which our additional piece of treason had brought down
upon our heads.  But "ten thousand pounds" were simply so many words
to me, nothing more.  I had not the smallest idea of what such a sum
really meant.  In fact, the idea of a hundred pounds would, in those
days, have seemed to me quite as tremendous.  I thought my father was
a very rich man, and that, though he would doubtless be somewhat
indignant at the demand, it was a matter of course that he would be
able to pay the ransom.  But Bessie knew the value of money better
than I did.

'I heard a smothered cry beside me as Judge Jeffreys pronounced the
sentence; and when, with scarcely a moment's pause, he signed to the
jailer to remove us, she lingered for a moment, moved a few steps
after us, hesitated again, and the next instant, while Henrietta and
I stood motionless with horror and dismay, and even the jailer stared
in speechless surprise, she had sprung back again to the bar.  "My
lord--my lord," she faltered in trembling, eager tones, "Hear me one
moment, just one moment, I pray you, for the love of God.  I can
never pay such a sum of money.  I have not a penny in the world; and
there is nobody to pay it for me.  Oh my lord, do have mercy.  My
uncle, Sir Geoffrey Davenant----"

'The Lord Chief-Justice must have been rather astonished at her
sudden audacity, or he would hardly have allowed her to go on so long
without interruption; but at this point he broke in with a rude,
derisive roar of laughter.  "Oh ho! so Sir Geoffrey is your uncle, is
he?  My very humble service to you, mistress.  There, jailer, off
with her! off with her! we have no time for such foolery as this."

'The jailer moved towards her, whispering, "Are ye mad, mistress?"
and tried to lead her from the bar.  But her spirit was up now;
indignation and despair had made her forget all fear for the moment.
With a glance that was almost fierce, she wrenched her arm from his
grasp, and continued passionately:

'"You will not save me?  You will not have pity on me?  Then, at
least, let me say this: if I must not plead for myself, at least let
me plead for that poor child.  I dragged her into this trouble, I
persuaded her to give money; and for Henrietta Sidney, who----"

'"Take her away, jailer," thundered Jeffreys, with a curse and frown
that made my heart stand still--"unless she wants to pay the ransom
that her uncle paid this morning on Tower Hill."  Then I saw Bessie
turn white as death; and covering her face with her hood, she
passively allowed the jailer to lead her away.

'The instant we had passed the threshold, I burst into a passion of
tears.  As for Bessie, she walked a few steps mechanically, and then,
without a word or a sign, sank in a fainting fit on to the ground.

'As we re-entered the prison, the jailer carrying Bessie, still
unconscious, in his arms, we were met by the governor.  "Poor maid!
poor maid!" he muttered pitifully, when he had heard the state of the
case.  "But, mercy on us, what a lack of discretion some people have!
That she should have been so crazed as to dare to bandy words with
the Lord Chief-Justice!  Marry, what could she expect?  She was in
luck to escape so easily.  Ah! these are fearful days, indeed."  And
he passed on, with an expressive shake of the head, pausing a moment
to say in something of his old peevish manner: "I've ordered them to
find you a chamber to yourselves.  'Tis sorely inconvenient, ay,
well-nigh impossible to manage it; but there--well--my wife has been
urging me so strongly----"

'He finished the sentence with a grunt as he walked away.  This piece
of news was certainly a drop of comfort in our cup of misfortune.  It
was such a relief to find ourselves at last alone.  Though our room
was dismal and comfortless enough, to be sure, still it was luxurious
compared to the horrible place we had left two hours ago.  Yes--only
two hours ago, after all; but the very longest two hours that I ever
remember in the whole course of my life.  Ah! may you never know what
it is to pass two such hours as those were!

'The turnkey left us, promising to send his wife with some strong
waters, which he said would "bring the young mistress back to life
again in a twinkling."  He had laid Bessie gently down on the one
straw mattress which the little room contained; and Henrietta knelt
by her side, doing everything that she could think of to bring her to
herself.  I stood by, meanwhile, awe-stricken and bewildered, for I
had never seen any one in a swoon before; and as the moments passed
on, and she did not move or breathe, I began to fancy that she was
dead, and that Henrietta was trying to hide it from me.  At length,
when the turnkey's wife came in with the "strong waters," and rubbed
her temples, and poured a spoonful down her throat, Bessie did begin
to show some signs of life.  A tinge of colour came back to her
cheeks, and she half-opened her eyes.  But they had a strange, vacant
look; and when I sprang towards her with an exclamation of joy, she
gave an odd, frightened stare, as if she did not know me, and then
broke out into a wild fit of laughter.

'It was in vain that Henrietta kissed her, and spoke to her quietly,
and soothingly assured her that there was nothing now to fear, and
that I tried to make her understand where we were: she took not the
slightest notice of us, but only gazed at everything with the same
blank, unnatural stare.

'"What is the matter with her?  What shall we do?" I whispered,
shrinking in dismay from her side.

'"Hush!" she whispered, and stood silently watching with intense
interest the countenance of the turnkey's wife.

'The woman bent over the mattress, and, with her hand on Bessie's
wrist, scrutinized her earnestly for a few minutes.  Then, as she
looked, her face changed and, turning to Henrietta, she said gravely:
"This is somewhat more than a swoon, mistress.  Look at her eyes, and
feel her hands too--how cold and clammy!  Dear heart!  I fear she is
very sick.  Belike she is going to have the fever, poor lamb!"

'"The fever?" repeated Henrietta faintly.

'"Ay, mistress, it's been raging here of late; and there were some
down with it in that room where you've been not very long since.  Oh!
it's been terrible bad in this place.  I've lost two children by it,
and I had a touch of it myself."

'Henrietta and I exchanged terrified glances.  The remembrance of our
conversation that morning was in the minds of both of us.

'"Ay, mistress, 'tis the sickness, I misdoubt me," said the turnkey's
wife again, when Henrietta told her of Bessie's restless, feverish
night, and her unnatural languor and depression in the morning.
"'Tis always so with them when it begins.  She was sickening for the
fever all day, poor dear lady, depend upon it; and now this fright
coming upon it, has driven the poor thing clean out of her wits.
'Twill be more than a miracle if it doesn't go hard with her.  Ah!
well-a-day, she won't be the first by a long way, whom that
stony-hearted, blood-thirsty----"

'"Oh don't, pray don't talk so," implored Henrietta in a tone of
distraction.  "Only tell me what to do!  Only bring her a physician.
I will pay you anything you ask, if you will bring a physician to
her."

'The woman shook her head doubtfully.  She would see if it could be
managed, she said; but it was for the governor to give permission.
She durst do nothing without his orders, and he had just now gone
into court as witness in one of the trials that were taking place;
and then (she said), "Mayhap he will dine at his lordship's table.
But there, lack-a-day," she concluded, "a physician could do but
little for her now.  The disease must have its course, you see,
mistress; besides, it misgives me--it does indeed, ladies--that it
will go hard with her, poor dear!"

'The turnkey's wife was evidently not given to looking on the bright
side of things, but she seemed kind-hearted, in her way,
notwithstanding; and she left the room, promising to do what she
could about a doctor directly the governor was forthcoming.

'For some moments Henrietta and I could only stand looking at one
another in mute dismay.  It gave one such a miserable, helpless
feeling to hear the dreadful fever was already with us--that Bessie
was dangerously ill, and that we were absolutely powerless to help
her.  Neither of us knew what ought to be done.  Doctors, medicine,
proper food, none were to be had.  Even the simplest comforts, that
she had never before been without, were now hopelessly out of our
reach.  We could do nothing but make up the straw bed as well as we
could with some of the contents of our baggage, which we had found in
a tolerable state of preservation, lying in a corner of our new room.
Strange to say, nothing was missing but the looking-glass.  The poor
girl had kept her word when she promised to do her best to take care
of our goods.  So we made up a pillow for Bessie, and threw over her
everything in the way of covering that we could find, and then sat
down, with heavy hearts, to watch by her side.  She had sunk back
into a perfectly unconscious state, looking as deadly white as she
had been before she was aroused from her long swoon.

'"Oh, if Mrs. Fortescue were but here!" cried Henrietta, wringing her
hands in despair.  "If there was anything that we could do for her!
But there is nothing--nothing at all--only to sit still helplessly,
while she is perhaps dying under our very eyes.  Frances, it is too
horrible!" and for the first time since I had known her, I saw
Henrietta cry.

'I had never before heard her speak so strongly and
passionately--never imagined how intense her feelings were; and now
the bitter grief in her voice, and the violent, uncontrolled way in
which she wept, quite frightened me.  I could only lean my head
against her shoulder, and cry too; and in this disconsolate way we
sat till the turnkey appeared with dinner.  He brought us a message
from his wife, to the effect that the governor would not return until
late in the evening; but that she would come again herself, and bring
a drink for the sick lady.  Once more Henrietta entreated that a
doctor might be brought, but once more in vain.  Even when she
offered every gold piece that her purse contained, the turnkey was
obstinate still.

'"Not without the governor's authority," he persisted.  "These were
times when one must do nought rashly, if one meant one's head to stay
on one's shoulders."

'Well, the hours went on dismally and wearily.  Poor Bessie woke from
her lethargy after a while, but in a state that shocked and
frightened us more than ever.  She tossed incessantly from side to
side, with burning cheeks and parched lips--her blue eyes wide open,
and brilliant with fever.  Oh! what misery it was to sit and listen
to her as she lay talking wildly and incoherently on all sorts of
subjects--sometimes about Madame St. Aubert, and Pauline, and her old
school occupations; at others, raving violently about Colonel Dare
and the Duke of Monmouth.  Then she would fancy herself again at the
bar pleading before Judge Jeffreys, and implore piteously for mercy
on her uncle.  But, oh! the worst of all was when she started up and
clung to Henrietta, screaming in an agony of fear that Judge Jeffreys
was going to send her to the scaffold.  The turnkey's wife came again
in the afternoon with the promised draught; and whether it was the
effect of that, or that she was at last thoroughly exhausted, I do
not know, but she suddenly became quieter, and at length sank once
more into a state of stupor.  Thus the day wore on, and at last night
came, and the turnkey's wife looked in to pay us a farewell visit,
bringing another draught for Bessie, and a candle.  She looked at the
motionless figure on the mattress, with sincere pity in her face, and
then shook her head despondingly.

'"You do not think her better?" asked Henrietta with a quivering
voice.

'"She'll not be here in the morning," the woman answered gravely,
after a moment's hesitation.  "I wish I could stay with you to-night,
mistress; but I've a sick babe to nurse myself."  And with another
wistful, compassionate glance towards the mattress, she bade us good
night and closed the door.

'The next minute the silence that followed was broken by Bessie
herself.

'"Henrietta, what time is it?"

'She spoke quite calmly and naturally, though her voice was very
faint.  A glance at her face showed that the delirium had passed
away; but there was a curious expression in her eyes that I had never
seen before.  The wild, vacant look was gone, but they were still
strangely bright; and there was something so deep and solemn, and at
the same time so very sad and yearning, in the gaze which she turned
upon me as I went to her side, that I almost shrank from her.

'"What o'clock is it?" she repeated, with an effort to raise her
voice.

'"About nine, my love," Henrietta replied tremulously.  "How do you
feel, dear Bessie?  You are better, I think, are you not?"

'Bessie made no answer.  She only closed her eyes again, and leaned
her cheek against Henrietta's hand.  At length she opened them again,
and said abruptly:

'"I heard what she said, Henrietta.  She was quite right.  I shall
not be here in the morning."

'A thrill ran through me as she said this.

'"Oh don't, Bessie--don't speak so!  You are, better now--indeed you
are!  You will get well, and my father and Henrietta's will pay."
Here I broke off suddenly, checked by a warning glance from
Henrietta, and buried my face in the pillow to choke back the rising
sobs.

'"No, Frances, dear, I am not better," said Bessie, still in the same
calm, steady tone; "and I don't think I want to get better.  It is
all coming back to me now.  I remember what he said about my uncle.
Was that very long ago, Henrietta?"

'"Only this morning, my dear."

'"Only this morning!  And I feel as if it was all so very, very long
ago.  It seems like a dream--a dreadful, horrible dream.  Ah! I
thought I was going to die when he looked at me like that."  She gave
a sort of gasp and shudder, and clung more closely to Henrietta's
hand.  "I don't want to think of his face now, Henrietta.  Do help
me," she said plaintively.  "Won't you read to me, and say some
prayers?"

[Illustration: FOR A MOMENT SHE KNELT IN SILENCE, HER EYES FIXED ON
THE PAGE.]

'Without speaking, Henrietta took out her prayer-book, and found the
Service for the Communion of the Sick.  Her strong self-command was
almost giving way then.  For a moment she knelt in silence, her eyes
fixed on the page, and her lip quivering; but when her voice came, it
was clear and firm, as if we had been at evening prayers in Madame
St. Aubert's schoolroom.

'For some minutes after Henrietta had closed the book, Bessie lay
quite still, with her eyes shut, and I thought at first that she had
fallen asleep; but presently she looked up and said, with a faint
sigh:

'"Henrietta, I never knew what you were before.  It was my fault if
we were not good friends in the old days.  Will you forgive all those
thoughtless words and taunts of mine?"

'Henrietta's answer was a long, fervent kiss.

'"You were right, too, when you said we should bring trouble upon
ourselves," Bessie went on mournfully; "but I could not help it.  I
do not know that I could do anything else, if all should come over
again.  I thought I was doing right.  My uncle loved the Duke.  Only
poor little Frances--She must forgive me too.  I feel as if I was a
good deal to blame for her part in this matter.'"

'"No, no, dear Bessie," I sobbed, flinging myself down by her side.
"It was not your fault.  Henrietta did nothing, and you know she has
been punished as much as we have."

'"Dear little Fan, good-bye."

'These words were very faintly and wearily spoken; then her eyes
closed again, and Henrietta, signing to me not to disturb her, drew
me gently away from the bed.  I made no remonstrance when she
arranged some cloaks at the other end of the room, and begged me to
lie down and try to sleep.  All the afternoon I had felt tired and
drowsy, and as if a heavy weight was pressing down my eyes.  Now my
head was aching painfully, my throat felt terribly parched and sore,
and I lay down and sobbed on drearily, while Henrietta made me as
comfortable as she could, and then went to keep watch by Bessie's
side.

'"Perhaps she will be better to-morrow, if she goes to sleep," I
murmured dreamily.  But Henrietta's only answer was a silent kiss;
and that is the last I remember of that weary night.

'It was broad daylight when I next opened my eyes.  Henrietta was
standing over me with a white worn face, and eyelids red and swollen
with tears.  I just recollect noticing this, and also vaguely
wondering where Bessie was, for she was not lying on the mattress
now; and when I raised my head, and tried to look round the room,
there seemed no one there but Henrietta and myself.  But I did not
ask her any questions, and I made no reply when she spoke to me.  In
fact, her words did not seem to reach my senses, I felt far too ill
and wretched to care for anything, except to be left alone.  I
certainly was conscious of an intense desire for that.  It was agony
to move my head, and my throat was so much swollen, and so painful,
that I could scarcely breathe, much less speak.  Certain hazy
recollections I have of the turnkey's wife lifting me up, and pouring
something down my throat.  Then comes a long blank in my memory--that
is, not quite a blank, for I have a confused remembrance of long
restless nights and constant thirst, and horrible nightmare feelings,
one of which was, that mamma perpetually appeared, bringing me a cup
of cider, but that directly I tried to take it from her hand, she
invariably dashed it to the ground.  I woke up in my sound senses
again.  I heard Henrietta talking to somebody.

'"She will never get well here.  The doctor told me so this morning.
He says she must have pure air and wholesome, nourishing food; that
nothing else can save her.  Oh! what shall I do?"

'"Ah, poor little heart," said the voice of the turnkey's wife; "she
is sorely changed, to be sure.  She don't look as if you'd keep her
here much longer.  Well-a-day!  My heart aches for her mother, poor
lady; and they say her father's well-nigh ruined with gambling, and
that's why he can't pay the fine."

'"And you sent the letter?  You are certain that it went by a sure
hand?" Henrietta asked anxiously.

'"Yes, yes, mistress, the letter's gone safe enough.  But I've heard
tell that they'll never let her come here till the money's paid; and
sure she'll fret sadly to think how the poor child's lying sick and
calling for her."

'"Henrietta," I said, when I heard the woman leave the room, "have
you been writing to mamma?"

'She was looking down at me with a perplexed, pained countenance, but
my words made it light up with a bright gleam of joy.

'"Frances, my darling, are you better?  How glad I am to hear you
speak like yourself again!"

'"Have I been very ill, Henrietta?"

'"Yes, dear, very ill indeed; but you are going to get better now, I
hope."

'"I don't know.  I thought you said--didn't you say something about a
doctor?"

'"Yes, sweetheart; the governor sent you a doctor.  He is coming
again to-day."

'"And have I been very long ill?"

'"Only three days."

'"Only three days! but everything seems so long ago!"

'Even as I spoke, I remembered how Bessie had used the very same
words; and I tried to raise myself on my elbow and look round, but I
was much too weak to make the slightest movement without Henrietta's
arm.

'"Where is Bessie?" I whispered.

'Henrietta's face changed, and she hesitated, as if doubtful what
answer to give me; and, with a sudden pang, the thought came back to
me of that night when I had cried myself to sleep, and that morning
when, looking at the mattress where Bessie had been lying, I saw that
she was no longer there.  So I did not ask again, but passively
swallowed the medicine that Henrietta brought me, and lay for a long
time in silence, with my aching head in her lap.  Then at length I
repeated my first question, "Have you been writing to mamma?"

'"Yes, sweetheart; I wrote a long letter, and told her
everything--how ill you were, and how much you wanted her.  You kept
imploring her to come all through last night."

'"Did I?  Ah, I have been dreaming about her so much!  Henrietta, did
the doctor say that I should not get well?"

'"He thought you very ill, my dear; but you are so much better this
morning, that I hope he will say that you are getting quite well now."

'"If mamma would but come!" I murmured.  "I think I should get well
if I could only have mamma."

'"Poor child!" said Henrietta, with a sigh.  "I know that I cannot
nurse you as well as she would.  But she will come, Fan, when my
letter reaches her.  I am sure she will.  And now, my dear child, you
have talked too much already.  You must lie still and rest now, and
try to go to sleep."

'I was thinking of those words of the turnkey's wife, about my father
being ruined, and not being able to pay the ransom; but I did not
feel equal to the effort of asking Henrietta whether there was any
truth in them, for I was very weary, and ill, and languid, and so
weak that I could not even lift my arm.  One thing more, however, I
wanted to ask, before I followed her advice.  "Henrietta, did you
ever hear whether our letters were sent,--those letters that we
wrote, you know, that first day?"

'"I do not know, but I fear not; for although I did ask the turnkey
about them once, he would not give me a direct answer, and he looked
so grim that I was afraid to say anything more."

'Henrietta did not tell me then that her ransom was already paid, and
that the order for her release had been made out that very morning.

'It was not until some time afterwards that I found out how much I
had to thank her for: how she had nursed me through those three days
when I was lying between life and death, as untiringly and devotedly
as if she had been mamma herself; nor how, when she might have left
the jail the moment the order of release was signed, she had chosen
instead to stay with me in the pestilential atmosphere of that
wretched, comfortless little room, utterly refusing to leave me until
my mother should come to take her place.  But, as I said before, all
this had not dawned upon me as yet.  Besides, I felt that no one,
however kind, could be quite the same as mamma when one was ill; so I
am afraid I must have seemed very ungrateful to poor Henrietta, when
I murmured fretfully, "Oh dear! oh dear! why doesn't my mother come?
No one can nurse me as well as she can.  I am sure I shall die if she
won't come soon.  Oh, mamma, mamma, I do want you so _very_ much!"
Then, with Henrietta's soothing words, and sweet low tones sounding
in my ears, I sank exhausted into a long, deep sleep.'



CHAPTER V.

BLUE-COAT'S STORY.

'Surely that isn't the end?' said a disappointed voice, as Uncle
Algernon paused, and gazed thoughtfully at the portrait of Lady
Greensleeves, which was leaning against the wall, opposite his
writing-table.

'That is all I know of Lady Greensleeves' story,' he replied, with a
smile; 'but doubtless Blue-coat has something to tell.  You must wait
till I have had a confabulation with him, though.'

'When will that be?' cried Robin.  'I do want so to hear his story!
You see boys are so much more interesting than girls.'

Uncle Algernon laughed, and asked Silvia what she thought; but Silvia
was so much affected by the story, that she was unable to give a
coherent answer, and being, moreover, much ashamed of her tears, she
made rather a sudden exit, leaving Robin to extract a promise from
Uncle Algernon that Bluecoat's story would be forthcoming at four
o'clock on the morrow.

The children were punctual next day--so punctual, that they had to
wait full five minutes before Uncle Algernon could finish what he was
writing, add another sheet to the pile of manuscript in his desk,
wheel his chair round to the fire, and begin.


BLUE-COAT'S STORY.

'I was out on the Palace bowling-green one afternoon, with some of my
companions, most of them boys of my own age, and fellow-pages of
mine.  It was just after dinner, and almost the only time in the day
when we were free to amuse ourselves exactly as we pleased; for
though the life of a Court page was idle and profitless enough,
perhaps worse than profitless, it was not all pleasure--not one
continual holiday, as I had fancied it in the old days at Newcourt.
I had to attend constantly upon the Queen, my mistress, at breakfast,
dinner, and supper.  When she rode, when she walked in the garden, or
in St. James's Park, I was almost always obliged to follow her; and
when she went out in her coach, I formed one of the escort on
horseback.  Then, in the evening, there was dancing, or sometimes a
masque, in both of which I was often expected to take part; and this
I rather liked than otherwise--the acting especially.  But still the
perpetual restraint and stiffness of Court etiquette, from morning to
night, were very wearisome to me, and you cannot imagine how much I
enjoyed the short time that I could really call my own, when I could
put out my whole strength, hallo as loud as I chose, and use my legs
and arms according to my own free will.  Perhaps the part of my
duties which I most hated was the standing about in the ante-room to
the Queen's presence-chamber every morning, to receive letters and
petitions, or deliver messages, or usher in people who came to wait
on Her Majesty.  Well, on the afternoon referred to, I was rejoicing
in the thought of the tiresome business of the morning being over,
and, preparing to enjoy myself thoroughly, I threw off my coat, and
caught up a ball, when I heard the voice of one of the lacqueys
calling for "My Lord Desmond."

'"Who wants me?" I cried impatiently; for the interruption was most
vexatious when one had so very little time to spare.

'"There is a lady in the ante-chamber asking for you, my lord.  She
prays to see you immediately on very urgent business."

'A lady wanting me, and on very urgent business!  This was strange.
Could it be Lady Mountfort? I thought; and my spirits sank at the
idea.  But when I suggested this in an undertone to Hal Verney, my
chief friend among the pages, he only laughed, and vowed that when I
died the words "Lady Mountfort" would be found graven on my heart, as
"Calais" was on that of Queen Mary.

"Far more likely," he said, "that it is only some one with a petition
to the Queen for grace to some of the rebels.  There have been so
many here lately seeking pardons for their friends."

'"Oh! 'tis that, depend on it," said another.  "Only it seems strange
that they should have admitted her at this hour."

'"Well, whoever it may be, make haste to come back," called out Hal,
as I walked reluctantly off to see this mysterious visitor of mine.

'"Did she give no name?" I asked of the lacquey.

'"No.  She had refused to give any name," the man said.  He could
only tell me that she seemed of middle age, but that her face was so
concealed by hood and muffler that not a glimpse of it was to be
seen.  I felt no good will towards her as I made my way through the
noisy group of pages, gentlemen-ushers, Roman Catholic priests, and
Protestant chaplains, that filled the doorway of the Queen's
ante-chamber.  Nevertheless it was with decided relief that I glanced
at the tall, stately figure, standing in a corner of the room, which
was pointed out to me as the lady.  She was not Lady Mountfort, that
was quite clear, in spite of the veil and muffler; so I was able to
bow, and ask what her commands might be, with all the ease and
self-possession I had learnt of late, and which would have been quite
impossible to me six months before.

'"Can Lord Desmond let me have a few words with him in private?" she
said in a very low and rather tremulous tone.

'But though she spoke almost in a whisper, I knew the voice directly.
It was that of my mother-in-law, Lady Dalrymple.

'"Oh! find some place where I can speak with you alone," she repeated
earnestly, as I looked round the room, considering where I should
take her.  "There is something that I must say to you--something that
may be a matter of life or death."

'These words fairly startled me, and drove the game of bowls
completely out of my head.  Without any more hesitation, I pushed
open a side door, close to where we were standing, and led the way to
the Queen's private oratory, which I knew at that hour we were likely
to have to ourselves.  Lady Dalrymple threw back her veil as I shut
the door of the little chapel, and held out both hands to me.  She
looked much older and thinner than when I had last seen her on my
wedding day; and the kind, bright, cheerful face, of which I still
kept such a pleasant recollection, had a look of melancholy which I
had never seen there before.

'"Algernon," she began hurriedly, "you have not forgotten your little
wife, my poor little daughter Frances, whom you promised to love and
cherish and protect.  Well, she is in trouble now, as you must
know--in very great trouble and danger--and I have come to ask you to
help her."

'"But, madam," I stammered, astonished and bewildered, "how----"

'"Algernon, you are bound to help her.  You cannot refuse," she
interrupted, almost fiercely.

'"But indeed I am ready, madam.  I will help her with all my heart,
if you will only tell me what I am to do."

'"I want you to petition the Queen for her," continued Lady
Dalrymple, trying to control herself and speak calmly.  "She will
listen to you.  She cannot deny a husband pleading for his wife.  Can
she?"  And Lady Dalrymple laid her hand on my shoulder, and looked at
me for a moment, with an expression in her eyes as if she was not
quite sure whether she meant to laugh or cry.  It reminded me of the
smile with which she had greeted me that night when Sir Harry first
presented me to her at Horsemandown; only it was so much sadder, that
a vague terror rushed into my mind.

'"Where is Frances?" I asked abruptly.  "And why is she in trouble?"

'"What!  Is it really possible that you have not heard of the Taunton
maidens?" cried Lady Dalrymple.  "Why, theirs is one of the most
cruel cases in all this wicked, horrible business.  Of all the unjust
sentences that Judge Jeffreys has passed during these terrible
assizes, this is surely the most shameful of all.  'Where is
Frances?' do you say, child?  She is in prison--in the common
jail--in company with criminals and outcasts.  She and two of her
schoolfellows were sent there.  Yes, Judge Jeffreys had actually the
heart to shut up three young girls in a place like that, where a
fever is raging too.  One of the poor children is dead already, and
my poor little Fan will die too if she is not taken away from that
terrible place.  She is very, very sick, and they will not let me go
to her."

'Poor Lady Dalrymple!  There was such a tone of misery in her voice,
that I felt at that moment as if I would have done anything in the
world for her.  And, besides, I had a strong feeling of pity for my
poor little bride, for her own sake.  I had not thought much about
her, it is true, since the day of our wedding.  We had been very good
friends then, and I had considered her a pretty little girl, and
merry and good-humoured enough.  Still, she certainly did think great
things of herself--there was no doubt about that--and generally
managed to make her brothers give way to her.  This I very soon found
out; and, happening to have an equally good opinion of myself, and a
most decided liking for my own way, of course these qualities did not
raise her in my estimation.  I did not at all care for girls,
excepting only Agnes, who was just like my sister, and always did
whatever I told her.  Nevertheless, I was sorry for Frances from the
bottom of my heart.  I tried to fancy her shut up in a gloomy jail,
ill with fever, with no one to nurse her, and perhaps nothing to eat
or drink: she whom I had last seen with bright eyes and rosy cheeks,
so fearless and high-spirited, and leading what I thought must be
such a happy life at that charming old place Horsemandown, with her
brothers, her dogs, and her ponies for companions!  When I thought of
this, the blood rushed to my cheeks with indignation at Judge
Jeffreys' cruelty, and for a moment I felt almost choked, and as if I
could not speak to ask how she had come to be in his power at all.
Then Lady Dalrymple went on to tell me how Madame St. Aubert, Sir
Harry's kinswoman, under whose care Agnes Blount and my wife had been
placed at Taunton, had brought the King's severe displeasure upon
herself and all her pupils, by leading them in procession to present
a Bible and a banner to the Duke of Monmouth.  All the details of the
story which Lady Dalrymple told me, as far as she knew, you have
already heard from Frances herself, so I will not repeat them.

"The affair of the Taunton maids," as it was called at Court, had
been talked about for a day and then forgotten, or thrown into the
background by other incidents of the Rebellion.  Perhaps, as Lady
Dalrymple hinted in the bitterness of her wrath and anxiety, there
were some who had their reasons for hushing it up as soon as
possible.  But however this might be, it had somehow never entered my
head to connect the "affair of the Taunton maids" with my little
bride Frances, and Agnes Blount.  No names had been mentioned; and
fining and imprisonment seemed but a slight penalty when one heard of
so many unfortunate people sentenced to be beheaded, hung, or
transported; to say nothing of the chief victim of all, the Duke of
Monmouth himself, whose fate created more interest and excitement at
Court than that of all the rest put together.

'"But, madam," I asked timidly (for I always felt a little afraid of
people in any great trouble), "will not Frances be set free directly
the fine is paid?"

'"My good child, if she waits till then, she will never be set free.
The fine they ask is shamefully extravagant for all the children, but
for those three girls it is even more than that.  It is an enormous
ransom--a sum that is quite out of our power to pay."

'"But," I persisted, in astonishment, "I thought Sir Bernard was so
very rich!"

'"Why should you think so?" demanded Lady Dalrymple, with a slight
sharpness in her tone.

'"Oh, because----  It was only something that Agnes heard Father
Freeling say at Newcourt."

'"Ah, well!"--and poor Lady Dalrymple sighed heavily--"perhaps Father
Freeling was right once upon a time; but those days are over now.
Sir Bernard has been very unfortunate; and as to this sum of money,
Mr. Sidney may be able to pay it for his daughter, and, rich as he
is, it will take half his fortune, but we cannot do it.  Were we even
to ruin ourselves and our other children, we could not do it; and my
poor Frances must be saved some other way, unless she is to stay and
die in that den of thieves."

'"She shall be saved!" I said to myself resolutely, and then stood
pondering in silence on what the next step should be.  "Madam," said
I, a new idea striking me, "why should not I pay the ransom?  If she
is my wife, I have a right to do it more than any one else.  Oh,
surely Sir Harry could not have any objection!  And if enough could
not be had without, we might sell some of the land."

'"Nay, that is out of the question," she said, interrupting me with a
melancholy smile.  "My dear boy, I trust that you will help me to
save her, but it cannot be done in that way.  My husband has appealed
to Sir Harry already, but he can do nothing.  He cannot touch your
money; and if he could, he would have no right to do so.  You are
under age.  We have no right to ruin you even for her sake.  No; my
only hope now is to petition the Queen."

'"Then I pray you, madam, let me take you to the Queen.  You would
know what to say so much better than I should."

'But Lady Dalrymple shook her head very decidedly at this
proposition.  "No, Algernon, believe me, you would have a much better
chance of success than I should.  So many parents have pleaded in
vain already.  But she is your wife, and--so young as you both
are----  Yes, indeed, I am sure it is far better that you should go."

'"Then I will go at once," I exclaimed impetuously, and should have
acted on my words if Lady Dalrymple bad not caught my arm.

'"Gently, gently, my good Algernon; wait a bit.  Where is her Majesty
now?"

'"In her closet with the Princess Anne."

'"And is it usual to disturb her at this time?"

'I was obliged to admit that it was very unusual indeed, there being
a sort of general order that at this time the Queen was to be
molested on no pretext whatever, unless it were for some
exceptionally weighty matter.  And to-day the rule was more stringent
than usual, as Her Majesty was closeted with the Princess Anne.

'"Then you must not go now.  You must wait for a more convenient
season.  Algernon, I implore you not to be hasty.  Everything depends
upon speaking at the right moment."

'I saw the force of this counsel plainly enough, though had I been
left to myself, I doubt if it would ever have struck me; for I was
rather given to set about things in a blundering way, just at the
moment when they came into my head.

'"When shall you next see the Queen?" asked Lady Dalrymple.

'"This afternoon, madam, she will walk in the gardens, or, mayhap, go
on the river, and either way I shall attend her."

'"Then you will doubtless find some happy opportunity for your
petition.  I trust to you to choose your time wisely, and to make
yourself heard.  Now I must not stay longer.  See, this is where I am
lodging;" and she handed me a paper.  "If you succeed, it will be
easy enough to send me tidings."

'"But, madam, pray stay one moment.  What must I say?"

'"Nay, child, choose your own words.  Tell her Majesty the plain
facts just as I told you; and surely, if she has a heart at all, they
will be enough for her.  Farewell!  Be wary.  But, for God's sake, be
as speedy as you prudently can."

'Lady Dalrymple turned to leave the oratory; and as I moved to open
the door, it was pushed back by some one outside, and Lady Sarah
Buckthorne, one of the maids of honour to the Queen, came in for a
few steps, and then stopped short with a look of astonished inquiry.

'"I was called in from----  This lady wished----" I began, somewhat
confused.

'"I must beg pardon for intruding here," said Lady Dalrymple
courteously; "but I had occasion for a few words with my kinsman,
Lord Desmond, and as the ante-chamber was crowded and noisy, he
brought me here for privacy."

'Lady Sarah made a stiff courtesy, took up a breviary that lay on the
Queen's prie-dieu, and departed.

'"Is that one of the Queen's ladies?" asked Lady Dalrymple sharply;
and when I told her, there was a look in her eyes for a moment that
was almost fierce.  "If they only understood----!  If they could know
but for one minute----!" I heard her murmur as we passed through the
passage that led to the ante-chamber.

'When I got back to the bowling-green, a game was going on, in which
everybody seemed too deeply interested to notice my reappearance.  I
was rather glad of this, for I was in no humour to play; so I stood
looking on absently, while I pondered in my own mind what I should
say to the Queen.  Presently Hal Verney came up to rouse me with a
slap on the shoulder, and asked why I was in the dumps, and who it
was that had sent for me.

'"You see you were such an unconscionable time gone," he continued,
"that you could not expect one to wait for you.  But this game is
almost over, and then we'll have a glorious match; so cheer up, man,
and don't be moody."

'I gave Hal to understand that he had hit upon quite a wrong
explanation of my moodiness, and that my interest in bowls for that
morning was over.  Whereupon he became so curious, that I ended by
telling him all.  Hal was such a quick, sharp-witted fellow, that I
thought it very likely he might be of some use to me in managing my
suit to the Queen.  I had scarcely ever spoken of Frances to Hal
before--partly because, I am sorry to say, she was so very seldom in
my thoughts, and partly because, when I first came to Court, it had
been the fashion with him and the others to consider my very early
marriage as an excellent joke, and to pity me for being tied to a
wife already.  However, even if that jest had not been worn out long
ago, there was far too much chivalry in Hal for him to dream of
alluding to it now.  He listened with more interest than I had
expected, and was quite as vehement in his indignation against the
Lord Chief-Justice as I was myself.  '"You had better say nothing to
the others about what you are going to do," was his first bit of
counsel.  "It is as well that it should not be noised all over the
Palace before you make your petition.  Why, Algernon, you must have
heard all about the Taunton girls and that Madame St. Aubert before?
'Tis a marvel that you should never have thought of your wife being
among them!"  I could not but own that I had been extremely dull.
"And then," Hal proceeded, "I daresay you never noticed how, one day,
when Princess Anne asked what had become of them, Lady Sarah managed
to turn the conversation, and prevent any one from answering her.
Ah, well, if you had kept your eyes open, as I do, you would know
something of these matters."  I looked at Hal with intense respect.
He certainly had a wonderful talent for keeping his eyes open, and
finding out all the little intrigues that were going on in every
quarter of the Palace.  "Do you know," he went on, in very low and
mysterious tones, "that the Queen's ladies have contrived to get the
fines for those girls granted to them to divide among themselves?
Isn't it a shamefully mean and pitiful thing to do?  It was through
Philip Buckthorne that I found it out."

'"The maids of honour!" repeated I in dismay.  "Then there is no
chance of the Queen's showing any grace to me!"

'"Nay, don't be too sure of that," said Hal sagaciously.  "Depend
upon it the Queen knows mighty little about the matter; and however
that may be, it is not at all unlikely that she may grant a pardon to
this one particular girl, when she hears who she is, and all about
her."

'"I wish Lady Dalrymple would have agreed to ask an audience of the
Queen herself," I sighed despondingly.

"She had too much wit to do that," pronounced Hal with a significant
smile.  "Don't you know that Sir Bernard Dalrymple is not in the
King's good graces?  Ah, you were not here in King Charles's time, so
you don't know, of course.  You see, he used to be in high favour
with King Charles, but the Duke of York never liked him.  Why, since
the coronation, Sir Bernard has never been seen at Court.  Then,
besides, he lost tremendously at the gaming-tables--more than half
his fortune, they say.  And he is in debt.  Oh, there is scarcely a
soul in the Palace that he does not owe money to."  I was quite
aghast at this piece of information.  It accounted for Lady
Dalrymple's refusal to give her name, and her evident wish not to
make herself known to any one but myself.  And there was yet another
reason why she should shrink from showing herself at Court, which Hal
(thanks to his ever-open eyes) was enabled to confide to me.  It had
been whispered that Sir Bernard had had, at one time or another, some
correspondence with Monmouth.  It was only a rumour, with no shadow
of proof.  "Still," quoth Hal, "enough to make His Majesty look
somewhat coldly on the Dalrymples of Horsemandown just at present."

'"If she was but your wife, Hal, instead of mine you would manage it
so much better."  Hal was, I suspect, quite of the same opinion,
though he did not say so.  We then stood considering the subject in
silence for a minute.  "Marry, Hal, now I think of it, I have a
particularly bad chance with the Queen to-day!"

'"What!  because of Carlotte?  Ay, true enough.  I forgot that.  How
very unlucky, to be sure!"

'Carlotte was one of those beautiful little black spaniels, which
King Charles had brought into fashion, and which, in his time, quite
swarmed wherever his Court happened to be.  It was by the late King
himself that Carlotte had been given to my mistress, and she
certainly was one of the most perfect specimens of her kind that I
ever saw.  Not one of the Queen's many pets was valued like Carlotte.
And you may imagine into what dire disgrace I had brought myself this
morning, while we were walking in the park, by throwing a large
stone, in picking up which she had broken three of her teeth!

'"Yes," pursued Hal, shaking his head with an air of profound wisdom,
"that certainly is against you.  You provoked her sorely by that
piece of folly; and, I warrant, you will be out of favour with her
for the rest of the day.  And no marvel either!  I'll tell you what,
Desmond!  I have an idea our best way will be to get some one else to
speak to the Queen--some one who is a favourite of hers, who has a
strong influence over her, and whose word would have some weight."

'I caught at this idea with great satisfaction; but then, who was
this some one to be?  Whose word would have the most weight with her
Majesty?  The maids of honour were clearly out of the question.  One
person after another came into my mind and was rejected.

'"How would the Princess Anne do?" Hal suggested, but in a doubtful
tone.

'I shook my head.  Princess Anne was the very soul of good-nature, it
could not be denied; but had she a strong influence over the Queen,
or any one else?  No, we had a great misgiving that she had not.
'"Hal," cried I suddenly, "I have it at last!  Father Niccolo!"

'"Bravo!" was Hal's enthusiastic reply.  "The very man!"

'And he was the very man, as far as regarded influence with the
Queen; but whether he would be likely to prove a warm partisan of one
of the Taunton rebels, the adherents of the "Protestant Duke," was
more doubtful; for Father Niccolo was the most staunch, not to say
bigoted of Papists.

'"No matter," said the undaunted Hal, when this objection was
started; "we must find some way of making him do it."

'This bold yet simple plan for settling the difficulty was really
enough to take one's breath away.

'"Make him do it!" gasped I.  "The Queen's own confessor!  Faith,
Hal, that's more easily said than done."

'"Very likely," responded Hal, with his wonted coolness; "still,
that's no proof that it can't be done at all."

'"Well, how you can dream of making him do anything, I can't for the
life of me imagine."

'Neither could Hal, as he was fain to confess.  "At least, not just
at this moment," he said.  "But never mind," he went on confidently;
"wait a bit; we'll lay our heads together, and some scheme shall be
hatched presently, I warrant you."

'"I suppose," I suggested, rather doubtfully, "there's not much
chance of persuading him to do it, if we just go and tell him the
whole story, simply, from beginning to end."

'"Odds fish, no!" cried Hal hastily (it was the fashion among the
pages to affect this exclamation, because it was always in the mouth
of the late King).  "That is just like you, Algernon.  You always
want to go about matters in such a blundering, downright way!  You
were never born for a statesman, that's quite clear."

'I suppose I was not, for my instinct always was to use the simplest
and quickest means possible to gain my point.  I had an intense
dislike to doing things in a crooked, roundabout way; and if I made
the slightest attempt to do so, was sure to break down hopelessly.
Now, Hal had undoubtedly a strong taste for a little bit of intrigue.
Not that he would do anything that he considered mean or
dishonourable.  He had his own ideas of honour, and was staunch
enough to them; but his Court life had begun very early, and had
taught him a great many things which shocked me when I first knew
him.  Among them was this love of man[oe]uvring, which I could
neither understand nor take a share in, notwithstanding my friendship
for Hal.  But he was older than I was; and I admired and respected
him so much that I generally gave way to his opinion.

'"You see, we could not offer him a bribe worth having," Hal
presently pursued; "and even if we could, I have my doubts as to
whether he would take it.  He is a superstitious fool, and
chicken-hearted enough for anything; but I don't think he is so
greedy as some folks that I wot of.  No!  Look you, Algernon, this is
what we must do; we must frighten him into it."

'"Well, but how!  Do you mean by some trick of goblins or demons?"

'"No, not that; though that were no bad notion either.  There's
nothing he would not believe.  But I'll tell you the scheme I've
thought of.  You know Father Niccolo always paces up and down the
green walk under the chapel windows, reading his breviary for some
time before vespers.  Well, we'll be in hiding in that dark alley
leading down to the river, you and I, and two or three more of us.
We must be right well cloaked and masked, of course--in such guise
that he shall have no inkling as to who we are.  Then, when Father
Niccolo passes, out we rush, drag him into the alley, and force a
promise from him to pray the Queen's grace for the maids of Taunton."

'"But, Hal, force a promise! how can that be managed?  Father Niccolo
is not very easily browbeaten, I imagine."

'"Leave that to me," replied Hal, whose confidence in his own powers
seemed to increase with the necessity for using them.  "It will be my
business to arrange about that.  Your legs and arms will be more
wanted in this affair than your tongue, Algernon; and they are not to
be despised in the matter of strength.  I think I could be made to
promise most things if held in your grip, with no chance of being
released until I had passed my word.  But are you willing that I
should have the whole conduct of this affair?"

'"Oh, certainly; if you are quite sure there is no other way of
gaining the pardon."

'"You must see yourself that this is the surest and swiftest," cried
Hal eagerly; and then he hastily ran over the arguments which proved
that every other scheme must fail.  In fact, he was becoming so much
in love with his plot, that I am sure he would have been highly
disgusted if I had discovered a flaw in it, or had suddenly devised a
much better one.  But I could not, and so was obliged to fall in,
heart and soul, with Hal's project.  I was not without some doubts
and scruples which I was ashamed to confess to him, but which
troubled me a good deal at first, though I speedily forgot them in
the excitement of planning and carrying out our enterprise.

'"In the first place," said Hal, "we must get one or two of the
others to help us, who will keep our counsel, and do as they are
told.  Roger Crosbie for one, I think, and Phil Buckthorne for the
other."

'"Is he to be trusted?" I ask rather doubtingly.

'"To be sure?  He's too much of a blockhead to make out the meaning
of half our proceedings.  We need only tell him that we want to give
Father Niccolo a fright.  That will be quite enough for his thick
skull to take in.  In the matter of cloaks and disguises, you may
trust me," Hal went on to say, looking very important.  "I know of
one who will get me all I want, and ask no questions, either now or
afterwards.  You need not open your eyes so wide, Master Innocence;
but just go and secure Phil and Roger, and let out as little of the
project as need be to them.  They'll be ready enough to join us, I
warrant, for the sake of the frolic."

'And he went off, whistling a bar of the "Old and Young Courtier"--a
tune for which he had a great partiality--while I proceeded on the
mission entrusted to me, distracted between my admiration for Hal's
cleverness and a haunting fear which would beset me that we were not
going the right way to work.

'It was quite dusk (about eight o'clock, I think) when we four
conspirators, being released from attendance on the Queen till
supper-time, one by one left the great gallery where most of our
fellow-pages were congregated, and slipped away to don our disguises,
and make our way down to the Palace gardens, which Hal had appointed
as our place of meeting.  Hal's mysterious friend evidently
understood the art of concealment.  We were cloaked and muffled to
the eyes; and so tall and broad did my three companions look, that I
hardly recognised them in the dim light.  They were all in excellent
spirits.  Roger Crosbie and Phil Buckthorne (who, as I ought to have
told you, was a brother of Lady Sarah's) had taken mightily to the
idea of reducing Father Niccolo to a state of abject submission, by
means of his fears.  A Popish priest was considered fair game; and
they offered not only to keep him prisoner in the dark passage till
Hal had worked his will upon him, but also, if need were, to duck the
unfortunate father in the river which ran at the further end of the
alley.  But Hal pronounced this to be both impolitic and unnecessary;
and beseeching us to be silent and cautious, he led the way to our
hiding-place.

'At the time at which I am speaking, the chapel and the Queen's
apartments at Whitehall were all _en suite_; so that, when you stood
in the green walk facing the chapel windows, you had the gardens on
your left hand, with the windows of the Queen's rooms looking into
them, and behind you a block of buildings, through which ran the
narrow passage wherein we were to hide.

'And there we crouched down, waiting, with our eyes fixed on the
strip of grass and paved walk, which were all we could see from the
narrow opening in front of us, till it grew so dark, that it was
impossible to distinguish between grass and pavement; and I began to
fear that when Father Niccolo did come, we should not be able to see
him.

'"I am beginning to feel uncommonly like Guy Fawkes," whispered
Roger, half laughing, in my ear.

'I myself had been feeling so for some time; and it was only by
calling up to my mind's eye a picture of poor Lady Dalrymple sitting
lonely in her lodgings, waiting for the good news I was to bring her,
that I could force myself to stay where I was, and go through with
the undertaking.  Just then the chapel bell began to ring for
vespers; and between the strokes we distinctly heard a footstep
echoing on the flagged pathway.

'"He's coming!" said Hal below his breath.  And springing to his
feet, he peered eagerly into the darkness.

'A figure was passing between us and the faint glimmer of light,
which was all that remained, and in another moment it was surrounded,
seized, enveloped over head and shoulders in a large cloak, and
dragged struggling into the dark archway.  The old priest fought
desperately; and Roger and I were obliged to pinion his hands behind
him with both our own before Hal dared raise the muffler, and whisper
in his ear, "You are safe.  Only be still, and no one shall harm you."

'A piercing scream was the only answer; and at the same moment I let
go my hold, calling out in dismay, "Hal!  Hal!  It's a woman!  I felt
the rings on her hands."

'The woman, whoever she was, feeling our grasp on her arms loosen,
made a violent effort, and slipping from our hands, darted up the
alley, and disappeared from sight.

'"Idiots that you were, to let her go!" cried Hal furiously.  "We
must after her, and bribe her to hold her tongue, or she will raise a
hue and cry, and we shall have a dozen people at our heels before we
can reach the Palace."

'Off we started in hot pursuit, guided by the faint sound of
footsteps flying in the direction of the chapel, which was the
nearest place of refuge.  But, alas! as ill luck would have it, Phil
Buckthorne, whose legs were as quick as his brain was slow, was
foremost in the race.  He overtook the flying figure on the threshold
of the chapel, and disregarding Hal's warning cry, which was raised
as high as he dared, rushed in after her.  The rest of us, when we
reached the door, hesitated a moment what to do next.  If we had
taken to our heels then, we might have escaped scathless; but we
could not leave Philip in the lurch, and so, after a pause of a few
seconds, we followed his example, and went in.  The chapel was
lighted up in preparation for vespers; and the first person who met
our astonished and horrified gaze was Lady Sarah Buckthorne! who sat
sobbing on a chair by the altar, supported by Father Niccolo.  In
front of her stood Philip, looking utterly abashed and confounded,
while he repeated slowly:

'"I tell you, sister, we meant no harm.  There is no need to be
frightened.  'Twas all a mistake."

'"No need to be frightened!" cried Lady Sarah angrily.  "I ask you,
father, if it was not enough to frighten me when a whole gang of
young ruffians set on me at once, dragged me into a dark entry, and
bound my hands behind me?"

'"There were but four of us," said Phil, looking very sheepish.

'He certainly had a talent for making matters worse, for he went on:

'"I shouldn't have touched you if I had known who it was; but we took
you for Father Niccolo, you see."

'Lady Sarah laughed hysterically.

'Father Niccolo exclaimed, "Holy mother! what iniquity is this?"  And
Hal, seeing that all was lost, pushed past Philip, after privately
shaking his fist at him, and stopped any further revelations by
beginning a series of the most profuse apologies to the injured Lady
Sarah.  But Hal had been so taken aback on discovering who our
prisoner really was that his words did not come quite so readily as
usual.  She would not listen.  She had been very much frightened, and
now she was very angry.  Moreover, she was by no means so
thick-witted as her brother, and was evidently beginning to suspect
that our unlucky plot was something more than a mere frolic.

'"The Queen shall hear of this, sir," she replied to Hal's
protestations.  "You and your accomplices must be taught that her
Majesty's ladies are not to be put in fear for their lives with
impunity.  You, Hal Verney, have been the ringleader in all sorts of
mischief too long.  It is time that your pranks should be put a stop
to."

'"But, madam, hear me one minute.  It was my doing.  It was for my
sake that Hal--that we----  In fact, if this comes to her Majesty's
ears, the blame must rest with me," cried I, unable to keep silence
any longer.

'"You here, my Lord Desmond!" cried Lady Sarah, while Hal plucked my
sleeve impatiently to force me to be quiet (he had so much more faith
in his own powers of persuasion than in those of any one else)--"I
could not have believed it," Lady Sarah went on.  "This matter must
be sifted to the bottom."

'"It must, madam," interrupted Father Niccolo, who was evidently
anxious to oust so many heretics from his chapel; "but this is not
the place for the inquiry.  The hour for vespers has struck, and I am
expecting every moment----  There! it is too late."  And so it was,
for at that moment the doors at the other end of the chapel which
communicated with the Queen's rooms were thrown open, and Her
Majesty, leaning on the arm of the Lord Chamberlain, and followed by
a crowd of her Roman Catholic attendants, advanced down the aisle.

'Of course the group at the altar broke up in confusion.  Lady Sarah
slipped quietly into her place amongst the other maids of honour,
contriving to whisper me as she passed, "I _must_ see you this
evening before supper."  Father Niccolo glided noiselessly into his
stall, and we four, who, as Protestants, were not required to attend
the Queen at her devotions, beat a hasty retreat to the door by which
we had entered.  It was accomplished in a moment, but it needed only
one glance at the astonished face of the Queen to assure us that we
had been observed.  If we had had any hope before of Lady Sarah's
tender mercies, or of Father Niccolo's good-nature, we had none now.
Her Majesty would never forgive such an unwarrantable intrusion into
her private chapel.  Hal's most flowery apologies would be of no use
now, and I might consider my suit as hopeless.  We were all in rather
low spirits as we walked away.  Hal and Roger relieved their minds by
abusing Phil Buckthorne; but I was too much out of heart even to do
that.  Here was the day almost at an end, and I was not one whit
nearer fulfilling my promise to Lady Dalrymple than I had been in the
morning.  Indeed, difficult as I had thought it then to ask a grace
of the Queen, it seemed almost impossible now.  And Lady Dalrymple
had implored me above all things to be speedy.  I was at my wit's end
to know what to do in the matter next, and gave vent to my
perplexities in such a heavy sigh, that Hal clapped me on the
shoulder, saying:

'"Cheer up, Algernon.  I've been in and out of many a worse strait
than this.  The Queen's anger won't last for ever; and even if she
does flout us for a time, we can live very well without Court favour."

'"'Tis not that, as you know full well," said I, rather roughly, for
Hal's nonchalance was particularly irritating just then.  "But how am
I ever now to get the Queen's favourable ear for that other business?"

'"Whew!" ejaculated Hal in a sort of prolonged whistle.  "I declare
that I had quite forgotten all about it.  Well, of all mishaps in the
world, only think that we should have had the ill luck to run against
Lady Sarah!  She'll not rest till she ferrets out the whole story.
What was it she said to you as we were coming out of the chapel?"

'When I told him he shook his head despondingly.

'"That bodes us no good, I'm afraid," said he.  "She will never
forgive us for the way we used her.  I must confess the poor lady did
get some rough handling among us.  That grasp of yours on her
shoulder must have been anything but pleasant.  And how we dragged
her mantle and hood about!  I remember hearing a great rent, and
thinking what wretched stuff the good father's gown must be made of."

'Hal went into a fit of laughter at the remembrance, which put the
finishing stroke to my ill-humour.  I broke away from him, and would
not hear when he called after me:

'"Nay, but hear me, Algernon.  I have thought of a plan."

'I resolved, however, that I would have nothing to do with Hal's
plans for the future, and marched away to await my interview with
Lady Sarah, feeling more angry with him than I had ever done before,
and most ungrateful for his well-meant attempts to assist me.  Phil
Buckthorne at last summoned me to his sister's presence.

'"She has been asking me about a hundred questions," said he, "and
boxed my ears for a simpleton when I told her 'twas only a frolic of
ours to frighten Father Niccolo.  She has got some maggot in her
head, but what it is I can't say."

'I had only time for a hearty though secret wish that Lady Sarah was
as great a simpleton as her brother, before I found myself standing
within the door of her chamber, and face to face with the lady
herself.  Her sharp, black eyes seemed to look me through and
through; and before I had settled how much of my secret I ought to
reveal for the sake of shielding my companions, and how much I ought
to keep back for the sake of Lady Dalrymple, she had drawn the whole
story from me by a few skilful questions.  Indeed, I soon found that
she knew so much already about the danger my wife was in, and the
pardon I had promised to obtain, that it was hopeless to try and keep
anything from her.

'"And so for once in his life Master Hal Verney's schemes have
miscarried," she said, with a mischievous laugh, "and you are farther
from your object than ever.  That boy's love of intrigue will be the
plague of the whole Court by and by.  I am heartily glad he should
have been found out, even though I was the victim of this plot of
his.  I shall not grudge the fright he gave me, if it is the means of
bringing on him the punishment his tricks so richly deserve.  Indeed,
there is not much doubt that he will receive that.  The Queen is
justly angry, both at what she saw of the unseemly invasion of her
chapel, and also at what Father Niccolo has told her of your designs
upon him, which my wise brother Phil so obligingly revealed.  She
hath already commissioned my Lord Chamberlain to make all inquiries
upon the subject.  So I am in great hopes that Master Hal Verney will
either be dismissed from his pageship altogether, or at least find
himself banished for a time to the solitudes of Windsor or Hampton
Court, where he would find ample leisure to meditate upon his own
ill-doings, and learn to amend his ways for the future."

'Lady Sarah looked so thoroughly and maliciously in earnest as she
expressed her hopes of Hal's speedy disgrace, that I could not help
exclaiming indignantly:

'"But why Hal more than any of the rest of us?  You know, Lady Sarah,
it is I who ought to get the worst of the punishment, whatever it may
be.  It was all my doing."

'"Tut, tut, child, never tell me," replied her Ladyship.  "'Twas Hal
Verney arranged the whole affair, I dare answer for it.  I know his
pranks of old.  As for the rest, Phil deserves a punishment for not
knowing his own sister, and I care not a jot what becomes of Roger
Crosbie."

'"But I do," I burst out.  "Roger and Phil knew nothing of our plans;
they only joined for the sake of the frolic.  I will go to the Queen
and tell her everything, and say that if any one is to be banished or
dismissed, it ought to me."

'"Indeed!" said Lady Sarah dryly.  "And when you have given Her
Majesty your instructions, and she has perchance followed your
advice, and had you turned out of the Palace for a malapert rogue,
pray what becomes of my Lady Desmond and your promise to her mother?"

'I stamped my foot on the ground with a sort of impatient despair as
I thought of Frances, sick and lonely, and of Lady Dalrymple's face
of misery when she implored my help.

'"What am I to do?" I muttered half-aloud, clenching my fists with a
most gentlemanlike desire to knock Lady Sarah down.

'"Listen to me," she replied quietly, "and perhaps I shall be able to
devise some means for getting you out of your trouble."

'I stared at the lady incredulously.  Decidedly she was the very last
person I should have thought likely to help me.  Besides the rough
treatment she had received at my hands this very evening, which had,
as I thought, made her my enemy for ever, was she not one of the very
maids of honour who were to profit by the ransom of the Taunton
girls?  A very odd smile hovered in the corners of Lady Sarah's mouth
as she watched my face.

'"I daresay you would not have chosen me for a confidante," she went
on; "but you cannot help yourself now, so you must attend to me.
Unclench your hand, and don't look so furious, or I shall be afraid
to stay in the room with you.  I have felt enough of your strength
to-night, sir, to desire no further exhibition of it."

'Lady Sarah glanced at a bruise on her wrist as she spoke; and I,
feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself, could only turn very red and
endeavour to stammer out an apology.

'"There, never mind that now," she proceeded.  "What I want you to
understand is this.  Though I care nothing for what becomes of those
boys (and I see you think me very hard-hearted for saying so), yet I
am not quite so relentless as you doubtless imagine.  I wish to save
you from the consequences of your own folly.  You are not like Hal
Verney, who is always planning escapades of this kind for the sake of
the intrigue, and the excitement; nor like Philip and Roger, who
would engage in anything that promised them a frolic.  You had some
reason for joining in this wild scheme, ill-advised as it was, and
therefore I will do my best to help you.  My brother Philip is to
ride to-morrow in the train of the Princess Anne, who goes to pay my
Lord of Rochester a visit.  You shall go in his place.  The Princess
will be away from Court nearly a week, and by that time this affair
will have blown over.  In the meantime I shall tell the Queen that
there were but three of you who pursued me in mistake for Father
Niccolo.  She need never know of your being there at all; for she had
no time to see how many of you were in the chapel, and the good
father will not be able to inform her, for he scarcely knows one of
you from the other, and certainly not you, you obstinate little
heretic, who keep so carefully aloof from him.  I will take care that
Philip does not betray you; and I suppose you may safely count on the
honour of Roger and Hal.  Is it not so?"

'"Madam, you are very good," I stammered out, after a pause of
extreme astonishment.  "But, but--how can I possibly put myself in
safety, while the others are left in the lurch?  They would never
betray me, I know that; but that is the very reason!  Oh, it is
impossible that I should leave them!"

'"Foolish boy, what good can your staying be to them?  I can take
care of my own brother, I suppose; and as to the rest, they will get
no more than they deserve.  Besides," Lady Sarah went on, speaking
low, and very eagerly, "you must see that, if the Queen once
discovers that you were mixed up in this business, you lose all
chance of prospering in your suit.  Whereas, if you keep your own
counsel, deny all knowledge of the affair, and follow out my
directions, I'll wager anything you like that your part in the doings
of to-night never comes to the Queen's ears at all.  Then you come
back in a week's time, when Her Majesty has forgotten the
misbehaviour of her pages.  You present your petition, tell the
touching story of your bride's imprisonment, and carry your point
with flying colours."

'But I had not been a courtier long enough to appreciate the full
force of Lady Sarah's arguments.  My life at Whitehall had done me no
good.  I did things now which would have horrified me to see done by
others six months before.  I was becoming used to the selfishness,
the scheming, and the want of principle shown by nearly every one
around me; but I had never yet told a deliberate lie, nor allowed one
to be told in my name.  So I refused Lady Sarah's proposal again very
decidedly, feeling hotly indignant that she should think me capable
of the amount of deceit and treachery which the plan she proposed
would imply.  She only laughed at my anger, however, and protested
that a page who never told a lie was a being who had never existed;
that falsehood came as naturally to him as doubling and winding to a
coursed hare, and was quite as necessary to his security.

'"As necessary as listening behind doorways to ladies of honour,"
said I, unable to resist giving vent to a suspicion which had flashed
into my mind at the beginning of our conversation.  In what way but
by eavesdropping could Lady Sarah have obtained such an intimate
knowledge of all Lady Dalrymple had said to me in the oratory?

'"Well, sir," she replied very coolly, though perhaps there was a
shade more of red in her cheeks than before, "if I had not happened
to overhear some of that interesting discourse this morning, how
should I have been able to help you out of your difficulties
to-night?  You would never have told me your secret of your own
accord."

'I involuntarily shook my head, and then, with a great effort to keep
my temper, said, "I can't see why you should care to help me, madam.
If you really do, I thank you; but I cannot do as you would have me,
so I must manage this business as best I can.  I know I have very
little chance with the Queen, but I must try."

'"As you like it," replied Her Ladyship, shrugging her shoulders, and
laughing a disagreeable little laugh.  "You refuse my assistance, and
imagine you can win a grace from Her Majesty by your own diplomatic
talents!  We shall see."

'"We shall see," I repeated mechanically, as I closed the door and
walked away, after an elaborate farewell salutation to Lady Sarah;
but I felt more down-hearted and uncertain what course to pursue than
ever.  I paced slowly along the corridor, pondering on Lady Sarah's
proposal, so very strange and so unlooked-for from her, when suddenly
an idea darted into my mind that directly threw a light on her
meaning.  Of course she was scheming to prevent my appeal to the
Queen.  Her policy was to send me out of the way for the present,
until she could in some way contrive to render my petition useless,
or perhaps put a stop to my presenting it altogether.  Why had I been
so dull as not to think of this before?  For, as I said just now,
Lady Sarah was one of the very persons for whose benefit these cruel
ransoms were to be extorted.  What was to be done?  She had failed,
to be sure, in baiting properly the first little trap she had laid
for me; but there were many ether ways, of course, in which she might
easily manage to thwart me.

'Why had I not followed my first impulse, and gone at once to the
Queen in a straightforward manner?  Why had I allowed Hal to persuade
me for a moment that the crooked path could ever be the best?  But,
after all, why should I not take the straight path now?  It seemed to
me, without doubt the only thing to be done under the circumstances,
and I resolved to do it.  I would go to the Queen directly, without
waiting for the next chance opportunity, and tell her my story before
Lady Sarah should have time to stand between us.  Yes, happen what
might, I determined to make my petition without any more delay, with
the forlorn hope that Her Majesty's pity and kind-heartedness might
grant it in spite of my unlucky piece of misconduct.  I had been
pausing on the staircase while I turned these things over in my mind,
and, having settled at last what my course of action was to be, my
spirits suddenly rose to such a pitch that I felt it necessary to
work them off by indulging in a slide down the bannisters (at home I
very seldom went down-stairs in any other way, unless there was a
chance of meeting Lady Mountfort, or Father Freeling); but, since my
Court life began, opportunities did not come as often as I could have
wished.  However, here was an excellent one!  For once in a way not a
soul was in sight, above or below, so up I vaulted, and shot down to
the first landing-place like lightning.  But oh! what were my
feelings, when, just as I started on my second journey, the Queen
herself suddenly emerged from a passage, and advanced towards the
foot of the stairs!  One desperate attempt I made to stop myself, but
only succeeded in giving my pace such an impetus, that I barely
escaped charging straight into Her Majesty's arms.  It seemed to me
that I certainly was the very unluckiest person in Christendom.  Just
at this particular time, when it was so especially important to me to
be in the Queen's good graces, who but I could have contrived to
offend her twice in the same evening?  I glanced nervously at her
face, which showed plainly enough that she was extremely angry.  As
for me, I felt for a moment as if I had quite as much cause for anger
as she had.  Why need she have appeared just at that minute, and just
in that particular place, too, where no one could possibly expect to
meet her?  A Queen, in my opinion, had no right to wander about in
the region of the back-stairs, and take her pages by surprise when
they were having a little harmless enjoyment.  So, what with my
confusion and vexation, by way of mending matters, I forgot to utter
a word of apology, and stood stock-still before her, conscious of
torn and crumpled ruffles, that the bow of my cravat was behind
instead of before, and that there was a slit of appalling length in
my claret-coloured velvet sleeve.

'"Well, sir, have you nothing to say for yourself?" was Her Majesty's
exclamation, after the first pause of indignant surprise.  "Perhaps
you expect me to ask pardon for intruding upon your Lordship's
privacy?"

'"I crave your Majesty's pardon with all my heart," I stammered out,
as awkwardly as if I had been a horse-boy or a cow-herd, instead of a
young courtier.

"I was only--that is--I never----"  But Her Majesty cut me short with
what I thought a perfectly withering smile, and a sharp "Enough,
enough!  Was ever such a bear before in the guise of a lady's page?
You may go, sir; and I beg that this may be the last I see of you
to-night.  To-morrow that escapade of yours in the chapel must be
inquired into; and I warn you that Father Niccolo shall not be
insulted with impunity while my word has any weight in the Palace."
And she swept past me with a look in her face which I knew quite
well, and which always seemed completely to shut one's lips.  When I
saw the corners of her mouth drawn down, and that particular flash in
her eyes, I felt that all poor Lady Dalrymple's hopes of my
intercession had been in vain.  Through my own fault I had lost every
chance of gaining my suit.  I stared after the Queen despairingly.
She was going up the staircase, perhaps to Lady Sarah's room!  I
remembered my resolution of only five minutes ago.  Now was the time
to speak if I was to speak at all Yes, now or never!  It would be
useless, of course--of that I felt hardly a doubt; but it would be
cowardly to give up without an effort, so that effort must be made.
The next moment I was at the top of the staircase, pouring out my
whole story to the astonished Queen, who stood perfectly breathless
with bewilderment at my extraordinary, not to say daring behaviour.
I told her everything from beginning to end without stopping, for
fear she should dismiss me before hearing the whole--everything, that
is, relating to my own affairs.  I said as little as could be helped
about Hal Verney, and nothing at all about Lady Sarah's proposal.
There was no need to bring that in, and I did not want to accuse her
unnecessarily.  It was not till I had finished that I ventured to
look up anxiously into the Queen's face.  I was curious, and yet
somewhat afraid, to see the effect which my unwonted proceedings
would produce.  Her mouth was not drawn down now--that was certainly
a relief.  I drew a long breath, and waited with beating heart and
burning cheeks for her answer.  When she did speak at length, it was
not as she had spoken a few minutes before--not in the sharp icy tone
that I had more than half expected to hear.

'"Come into my cabinet, child; this is not the place to discuss such
matters in.  I must hear this tale of yours over again, a little more
clearly."

'And I followed her, quite trembling with pent-up eagerness,
down-stairs (not this time on the balustrade), and into her own
private cabinet.  There my story had to be told again, interrupted
very often by questions from the Queen, who seemed to listen with a
great interest and attention when I repeated what Lady Dalrymple had
told me about the troubles that my poor little wife had gone through,
and the sickness and danger she was in at present.  A really pained
look came over her face, and her eyes filled with tears--somewhat to
my amazement, I must say.  That she was generous and warm-hearted, in
spite of her pride and quick temper, and that she could sometimes do
extremely kind things in a fit of impulse, I knew well enough; but
that she should care so much for Frances' misfortunes as to cry over
them, was more than I had dreamed of expecting, now especially, when
I had just made her so angry.  It was strange that she could feel so
much pity for one person, and yet so little for all the rest of the
miserable people who were suffering every day from having taken part
in the Western Rebellion, some of whom were undergoing far more
terrible punishments than the Taunton girls.  Scores had been hung or
beheaded, one or two even burned, and many shipped off as slaves to
the colonies.  I wondered whether she had felt as much distress for
the Duke of Monmouth; whether she had tried at all to save him, or
any of the unhappy prisoners whose friends were daily sending
fruitless petitions to the Palace.  If she could but have heard each
one's story as she had heard mine, she never could have shown so much
indifference to their fate.  But all could not be saved, of course,
whatever her wishes might be.  Perhaps that was the reason why she
appeared to be careless of all alike.

'In these speculations, however, I was soon interrupted by a tap on
the shoulder from the Queen.

'"What are you knitting your brows about, child?  Is it that you feel
a husband's cares and responsibilities too much for you?  Well, it is
somewhat hard, I grant, for the troubles of married life to begin
thus early.  But never fear!  I think I may promise to help you out
of the present one.  I will speak to the King to-night on behalf of
this poor little wife of yours."

'How I thanked Her Majesty I really have not the smallest
recollection.  The boon that I feared was lost entirely, and all
through my own folly, was actually gained after all; and I need not
describe my relief and delight, which were all the greater for the
difficulties I had gone through, and my hopelessness at last of
winning it.  How glad I felt now!  How very, very glad that I had
made and kept that resolution--hard as it was at the time--and had
spoken out boldly and straightforwardly to the Queen!  If I had kept
silence, then I should most likely have found no other chance of
speaking at all.  Yes, I had done what was right, and that is the one
deed which one never can regret.  Not a very original remark, I am
quite aware of that; but I never felt the truth of it so strongly in
my life as then, and I have never forgotten it since.

'"Nay, you must not be too sure of my success," the Queen said,
smiling, perhaps a little bitterly, as I tried to express my
gratitude.  "I will do my best; but remember, my power has a limit,
though you look as though you scarce believed that.  Ah, well!--now
you may leave me.  I will send a messenger to Lady Dalrymple, and bid
her wait upon me early to-morrow morning.  And, Algernon," she
continued, as I knelt to kiss her hand before leaving the room, "you
and your companions must make an apology for your rudeness to Father
Niccolo, and the affair shall be passed over for this time, on
condition that we hear no more of such crazy tricks for the future."

'It was all I could do to murmur out more thanks, and walk soberly
out of Her Majesty's presence after this.  And the first thing I did,
when I found myself out of earshot, was to give vent to my feelings
in a burst of whistling; after which I rushed off in search of Hal
Verney, most anxious to make up the first quarrel we had ever had.
He heard the news of how well my suit prospered with great
satisfaction, though not, perhaps, with quite as much as if the cause
had been carried by means of his own contrivance.  However, I think
he was somewhat consoled for the failure of that ingenious plan, when
I told him that we had nothing to fear now on the score of Father
Niccolo.

'What a long day that was to look back upon!  It seemed as if a week
had gone by since I was called in from the bowling-green to see Lady
Dalrymple.  For the first time in my life, I could not go to sleep
directly my head was on the pillow, but lay awake, thinking of
Frances in the Taunton jail, and wondering whether the order for
release would, after all, come in time to save her.

'"My Lord Desmond, you are wanted in her Majesty's closet," said one
of the Queen's officers-in-waiting, as he passed me in the
ante-chamber the next morning.

'It was yet quite early; and though I had just been attending on Her
Majesty at breakfast, she had made no allusion to her promise of the
night before, except to favour me with a gracious nod and smile,
which I thought looked encouraging.

'I suppose the gentleman saw me start and colour at his message, for
he whispered to Roger Crosbie as I moved away, "What's in the wind
now?  Desmond looks as if some madcap prank were on his conscience.
Has he got into trouble with the Queen, think you?"

'"Marry, no, I trust not!" I heard Roger say in a loud and horrified
tone.  "Why, I thought he told me we were out of that quandary!  Sure
he can't have tumbled into it again already!"

'I did not wait to reassure Roger, but rushed off with all speed to
the painted cabinet, which room was an especial favourite of the
Queen's, and generally went by the name of her "closet."  She was not
there when I went in; there was only a tall lady in black standing by
the window whom I recognised this time without difficulty.

'"Well, Algernon," she said, coming to meet me with outstretched
hands; "thank you a thousand times.  You have gained your wife's
liberty.  God grant that it may not be too late to save her life!"

'The last words gave me rather a chill; for though the doubt had also
occurred to me, I could not bear to think that she also had the same
fears.

'"Then she is to be released, madam?" I asked, eagerly.  "The King
has really granted a pardon?"

'"Yes, a free pardon at the Queen's intercession.  The whole of the
fine is remitted, and I am going to bring her home.  I start for
Taunton in an hour.  Poor heart," and she sighed, repeating half to
herself, "if only I am not too late!"

'"Oh, pray, madam, do not say so," I cried earnestly.  "You will not
be too late,--indeed you will not!  When once she is taken out of
that horrible place, with you to nurse her too, she must get well.
Oh, the sight of you will do her good directly, I am sure it will!"

"'I shall tell her what she owes to you," said Lady Dalrymple, taking
my hands again, with tears in her kind, soft brown eyes.

'"I thank you again in her name, with all my heart.  May I give your
love to her, my dear?"

'I murmured with some difficulty a shy "Yes, if you please, madam."
And then, as voices and footsteps were heard approaching the door,
she drew me suddenly into her arms, and kissed me as if I had been
one of Frances' brothers.

'"You are my son, you know, Algernon," she said, with a sort of
half-apologetic smile.  "God bless you, my dear boy, and keep both
you and her!"

'Some of the Queen's ladies entered at that moment to summon Lady
Dalrymple once more to their mistress's presence; and so I said
farewell to my mother-in-law, and for the last time, though I little
thought so then.

'Hal Verney, who, of course, had contrived to find out more of the
matter than anybody else, informed me that Frances was not the only
one to whom I had done good service by my petition.  The Queen had
inquired strictly into the matter of the Taunton maidens, and had
been much displeased with several of her ladies for the lengths they
had gone in it, and the hard-heartedness they had shown in the
affair.  Owing to her remonstrances, when she found out this, all the
fines were decreased to about a third of what had been demanded at
first; and one or two of the girls, whose parents were really poor,
received, like Frances, a free pardon.

'I was very glad to hear this, for Agnes Blount's sake especially.
She was at Newcourt when I went there for a short visit at Christmas;
and from her I heard the whole story of the part which Madame St.
Aubert's school had taken in Monmouth's insurrection, and the
troubles which had befallen it in consequence.  Agnes had been lately
staying at Horsemandown, and she told me, as a great secret, that
Lady Dalrymple wished very much that I should pay a visit there, but
that Sir Harry, and more especially, Lady Mountfort, had resolutely
refused to hear of it.  Why, I could not wholly understand till
afterwards; but I remember how desperately angry and disappointed I
felt at the time.

'Well! you have heard all my Lady Desmond's adventures fully enough
from her own mouth, so there is no need for me to say anything more
about them.  I will only tell you that she quite recovered from that
terrible prison fever, though her sickness was a very long and
serious one.  Perhaps you may also like to know that Henrietta Sydney
entirely escaped the infection.  She stayed a long time at
Horsemandown, helping Lady Dalrymple to nurse poor little Frances;
and the friendship that began in Taunton jail was never interrupted
to the end of both their lives.'



CHAPTER VI.

THE MAID OF HONOUR'S STORY.

'Robin, I'm quite sure now that Uncle Algernon is writing a book
about Bluecoat and Lady Greensleeves,' whispered Silvia, as they
walked away from the dressing-room.  'Didn't you notice how he got up
at once, and looked at a paper in his desk, just when he was in the
middle of the story?'

'Well, I wish he would write a little more about Blue-coat, then,'
observed Robin with a sigh.  'I liked it so very much.'

'Well,' said Silvia meditatively, 'I am not quite sure whether Lady
Greensleeves' story wasn't the nicest; only I wanted to hear some
more about Henrietta.'  But oh! Robin, don't you want to know about
Frances and Algernon when they were grown up, and how they met again,
and whether they liked one another?'

'I'll tell you what, Silvia.  We'll go back to-morrow, and ask Uncle
Algernon whether he knows any more of their stories.  I daresay he
does, though he didn't say so.'

And accordingly, the next afternoon, Uncle Algernon once more heard a
tap at the door of his dressing-room; and this time, when Silvia and
Robin put their heads in, he was discovered standing before two
portraits, which had been missing all that day from the staircase
wall.  One of these, labelled 'Frances Countess of Desmond, ætat 24,'
was a stately dame, in the dress worn by the ladies of William and
Mary's time--stiff and long-waisted, cut low in the neck, and with
sleeves reaching to the elbow.  But, despite the difference in dress
and age, the wavy dark hair, the brilliant complexion, and the arch
grey eyes could not be mistaken.  Fourteen years had made very little
change in Lady Greensleeves.  The same, however, could not be said
for poor Blue-coat.  The bright sturdy boy that Kneller had painted
bore scarcely any resemblance to the grave Lord Desmond of
twenty-eight.  His once round, rosy face was thin and brown, and his
curly auburn locks were exchanged for a black periwig.

'Can you really be Blue-coat?' Robin could not help saying, after
staring for some while at him in silence.

'Blue-coat grown up,' Uncle Algernon answered, smiling; 'and a good
deal changed, but not for the better, eh, Robin?  Well! so you want
to hear his history now, I suppose?'

'Oh yes, uncle, please; and Lady Greensleeves grown-up story too.
You know you have heard them,' pleaded Silvia, trying to pull him
into the big leather chair.  'I am quite sure they told them both to
you last night.'

'Yes,' added Robin.  'And you are going away to-morrow; and then you
will be off to Egypt, and nobody knows when you will come back.  So
if you don't tell them, we shall never hear them at all.'

'Unless you leave the goloshes of Fortune behind you,' suggested
Silvia mischievously.

'Ah! hem!  You see, I'm afraid they would fit no one but myself,'
Uncle Algernon answered, with a twinkle in his grey eyes.  'But, as
you say, Robin, this is my last day here, and these stories are not
quite so long as the others, so we will see what can be done.'

And after Robin and Silvia had waited for a moment in breathless
silence, Uncle Algernon cleared his throat, and began as follows:--

'I am not going to tell you all about my life, from the time I was
carried out of Taunton jail until I was what you call "grown up."  I
shall take up my story at the time when I was maid of honour to Queen
Mary the Second, and pass over, in the very briefest way, all the
events which took place before that period.  I must, however, explain
how it came to pass that I attained such a dignity.  My father had
left England soon after the failure of Monmouth's Rebellion, and then
joined heart and soul with the party of the Prince of Orange, and had
rendered him such services, that when, a year and a half afterwards,
William and Mary were proclaimed King and Queen of Great Britain, my
father returned to England in their train, one of the most
distinguished of their courtiers.  Sir Bernard Dalrymple had played
his cards well, everybody said; and if some of his friends whispered
a suspicion that his attachment to the new sovereign was not entirely
disinterested, his wife and children remembered simply that his
influence had been exerted in the cause of English liberty and good
government, and could join with all their hearts in the Church's
yearly thanksgiving for "the deliverance of their nation from Popish
tyranny and arbitrary power." And thus it was that, Sir Bernard
continuing in high favour at Court, his daughter, as soon as she was
old enough, was appointed one of the Queen's maids of honour, and so
took the first step towards obtaining that splendid position which
had been prophesied for her years before.  Poor Sir Harry Mountfort!
I hope my added years and mamma's teaching had somewhat increased my
wisdom since the days when his flatteries had turned my head; but I
confess I could not help thinking of his words with a slight feeling
of satisfaction, when the news of my promotion was first announced to
me.  I am afraid that, like a silly girl as I was, the peaceful
regularity of life at Horsemandown did not satisfy me so entirely as
to prevent an occasional wish for something more exciting.  What was
the use of being Countess Desmond, if one was to be always shut up in
the country?  Why should I trouble myself to learn so many
accomplishments, if I had no one to dance with but Oliver? no one to
praise my singing but the old vicar of the parish (who, truth to
tell, was too deaf to hear a note)? and where was the pleasure of
being married, if one never by any chance saw or heard of one's
husband?  It was not often, however, that I was troubled with such
discontented thoughts as these.  During the years that had passed
swiftly and happily away since that dreadful time at Taunton, I had
learned to think of it as a sort of bad dream, so confused with the
delirium of fever, that I could scarcely separate what was real from
what was fanciful, when I tried to recollect all that had happened in
the jail; and my remembrance of the Earl of Desmond was almost as
hazy.  I knew that he had obtained my freedom, and thereby saved my
life; for I should surely have died in the fever but for home care
and nursing, and I was grateful accordingly; but he never came to see
us, and when I asked the reason, I was told that Sir Harry Mountfort
(who had followed the fortunes of King James, and had taken his ward
with him into France) wished our marriage to be broken off.  My
father's poverty was one reason for this; and another was Sir Harry's
strong desire that Algernon should embrace the Roman Catholic faith,
as he himself had done.  I never knew exactly how the breaking off
was to be managed; and though, I suppose, I was sorry, I took as a
far more personal matter the loss of our riches, when there was a
talk of selling Hebe and the other horses, and would have given up my
rank and state with the greatest pleasure, if by doing so I could
have kept my pretty pony.  But I am forgetting my own rule, and
talking too much about things which happened long before I entered
upon my duties as a Court lady.  My father's difficulties had ceased
by that time, Hebe was my own again, and I was the Countess Desmond
still, chiefly because Algernon had refused to forsake his father's
faith; and it was not so easy to declare our marriage illegal whilst
we both remained members of the Church of England.  Sir Harry
Mountfort was dead, and his ward of age; but Earl Desmond had not yet
come to claim his bride.  No; at the time when the said bride, in a
flutter of shyness and delight, was making her final preparations for
her presentation to Queen Mary, her husband was a banished man, his
lands confiscated, and his life, if he returned to England, in
danger.  Algernon had fought on the Jacobite side in the battle of
the Boyne, had served Louis the Fourteenth in the Irish Legion
afterwards, had joined in one of the numerous conspiracies to place
King James again on the English throne, and, finally, had brought on
himself the dire displeasure of the Government by skilfully effecting
the escape of an important adherent of King James from the Tower,
where he lay under sentence of death for high treason.  It was my
father's turn now to declare that Lord Desmond was no fit match for
his daughter; and he made the declaration very often, and utterly
refused to listen when Oliver suggested that he might use his
influence with the Government to get Algernon's sentence of
banishment reversed, and at least some of his estates restored to him.

'"What would be the use," said Sir Bernard, "of risking the chance of
doing myself an injury, when I feel that I have not sufficient power
to be of the slightest service to Algernon?  No; the greatest
kindness to the unhappy boy would be to make an agreement with him to
set his marriage aside, which could easily be done, now that he and
Frances are both of age.  The law requires nothing but the consent of
both parties, which, I imagine, would be very easily obtained, and
then I would pay over to him the dowry he was formerly to have
received with his bride, and leave him free to choose a wife for
himself among the ladies at the French Court."

'"If he can find one generous enough to follow his fallen fortunes,"
muttered Oliver; adding aloud, "And what is to become of her little
Ladyship?  Surely it is rather hard for her to come down from her
pedestal, and be plain Mistress Frances Dalrymple once more!"

'"How long do you suppose she will remain Mistress Frances
Dalrymple?" asked my father, with his grave, set smile.  "Rely upon
me to study what is best for my daughter's happiness, sir, and find
some better employment than that of dictating to your elders what
course of action is best for them to pursue."

'I was not present during this conversation, but Oliver told me all
about it afterwards, and how completely he had failed in his attempt
in Algernon's favour.

'"Perhaps you might have persuaded my father better, Frances," he
said, "but you would not come forward.  You might have a chance even
now if you had the courage, for I am sure that, if he would, he could
help Algernon; but I begin to doubt whether you are very anxious to
help him, after all."

'I shook my head doubtfully at the idea of my appealing to Sir
Bernard.

'"You want," continued Oliver, "to turn the heads of all the Court
gallants before you bestow your foolish little heart upon anybody.
Is that it?  I have no patience with you.  But women are all alike!"

'"Oh, Oliver," I cried, colouring crimson at such an accusation,
"it's not that."  But Oliver was vexed, and would not listen to my
hesitating attempt at an explanation, and marched indignantly out of
the room, slamming the door behind him.

'"Oh, what dolts men are sometimes!" said I to myself, with an
impatient little stamp of my foot on the ground.  "Why can't he
understand that Earl Desmond would most likely far rather have my
dowry, and be rid of me altogether?  Why, he has never seen me since
I was a little girl, and I do not think I made a great impression on
him then."  I laughed as I remembered the conversation we had had on
our wedding day, and my confident assurances to my bridegroom that we
could not be unmarried again if we wished it ever so much.
"Supposing he does wish it," I thought, "if I could persuade my
father to intercede for him, and he should get back his estates
through our means, he would feel bound to take me along with them,
out of gratitude to the family.  I could not bear that."  But after
all he was my husband.  He had saved my life, and I ought, in common
gratitude, to do something to help him now he was poor and
friendless.  Oliver said I ought.  I wondered what it would be right
to do; and the tears started to my eyes, as the thought of how mamma
would have counselled me, and made everything clear and plain to my
understanding, rose to my mind.  Alas!  I could no longer go to her
with every trouble or pleasure.  In the way that lay before me, I
must learn to guide my own steps aright, and to follow as well as I
could the course she would have approved, while knowing all the time
that I should never hear her voice in praise or blame again.  It was
now two years since we had lost her, and home had never seemed like
home since.  It was more lonely for me than for any of the others;
for Miles was at Oxford, Roger at Eton, and Oliver, my chief friend
and companion, had received his commission, and was burning to join
the army in Flanders, and share in the honours our troops were
winning there.  With him away, my life at Horsemandown would be
desolate indeed; and so I think there was some excuse for me if my
head was a little turned by the change in my prospects.  "After all,"
said I, drying my eyes as my meditations came to an end, "it is of no
use thinking about it.  Oliver thinks, because my father is so gentle
and kind to me, that I have more power with him than he has; but I
know quite well that nothing I could say in Algernon's favour would
make any difference when he has once made up his mind.  If my Lord
Desmond wanted his wife, he should not have mixed himself up with
those wicked conspiracies against our good King.  'Tis his own doing
if he never sees my face again; and if he prefers my dowry to me, he
is most welcome to it, as far as I am concerned."  But as I ran
up-stairs to inspect the preparations for my journey to London, I
found myself wondering whether the French ladies were very
beautiful--fairer than that face I caught a glimpse of as I passed a
mirror in the withdrawing-room--and whether, if Lord Desmond was to
see me----  But here I stopped, with a laugh at my own vanity; and
having by this time arrived at my chamber door, I succeeded, by a
violent effort, in banishing him from my mind, and was able to give
undivided attention to the important question of the trimming of my
shaded lutestring gown.  Should the ruffles be of Flanders or guipure
lace? and what colour should I choose for the bows of my new cornette
cap?

* * * * *

'Queen Mary's Court was not considered a gay one by those who
remembered Whitehall during the last reign; but to me, who had never
seen any town larger than Taunton, the life of a maid of honour
seemed a whirl of gaiety.  State balls, receptions, visits to the
play-houses, and attendance on Her Majesty whenever she went into
public!  All these I enjoyed extremely.  Even to learn the various
little ceremonial observances which my position required was amusing
enough at first.  The Queen, my mistress, was gentle and kind; and
having got over my first alarm at her exceedingly dignified manner, I
became, like most of her ladies, very heartily fond of her.  Even
when Whitehall was deserted for the comparative quiet of Hampton
Court, I was not dull.  The loss of the theatres and the Mall was
more than compensated for by the purer air, the greater freedom from
restraint, and the merry hunting and hawking parties which were
carried on when the season permitted.  I had plenty of employment,
companions of my own age, and more compliments and admiration than I
had ever received in my life before.  No wonder the thought of
Algernon faded more and more out of my mind now there was no Oliver
to talk about and pity him.  I never even heard myself called by his
name.  It was not a popular one at that Court, and my father had
ordained that I should be received there as his daughter, not as the
wife of an exiled Jacobite.  To all intents and purposes I was free,
and might, if I chose, carry on as many love affairs as Lady Beatrice
Falkland herself, the fairest and most coquettish of all her
Majesty's waiting-women.

'But I see you think I am telling a very dull, long, rambling story,
so I will not trouble you with a minute description of our way of
life at Hampton Court.  You would not care to hear how many hours I
and my companions spent every morning working the life of Moses in
tent-stitch, under the direction of the Queen herself; and you would
be more shocked than interested to be told of the amount of time and
money we wasted every evening at the card-tables, absorbed in the
fascination of Ombre, Basset, or Spadille.  I will pass on at once to
an event which was very interesting to me, and which I hope,
therefore, will prove so to you.

'One day, about six months after my arrival at the Palace, I was
sitting in my own chamber in a very melancholy frame of mind.  News
had been received that morning of a great victory gained over the
French in Flanders.  Great were the rejoicings of the Court in
consequence; but the messenger who had brought the tidings, and who
had quite a budget of letters from absent husbands and brothers to
their relations in the Palace, had none for me.  I was just making up
my mind that Oliver was either badly wounded or killed outright--for
I knew his company had been engaged several times--when a tap at the
door aroused me from my dismal conjectures, and Lady Beatrice
Falkland, without waiting for permission, tripped into the room.

'"Your pardon, Mistress Frances, for my want of ceremony," she said;
"but I knew you would fret about your brother till you brought on a
fit of the vapours, if you were left alone, love, so I made bold to
storm your fortress, and come in.  Why, child, you are not the only
one who has had no news.  Do you suppose officers have nothing else
to do the instant a battle is over but sit down and write long
letters home?  I have not had a line from my father since he landed
at the Hague; but I am not going to cry my eyes out, and imagine all
kinds of disasters, just because of that.  I'll wager all my winnings
last night that Mr. Dalrymple is alive and merry at this present
moment.  So cheer up, my dear, and listen to me; I've something very
important to tell you."

'Lady Beatrice was so good-natured and light-hearted herself, that
she raised one's spirits whether one would or no.  I forgot my worst
fears while listening to her cheerful voice, and was able, by the
time she had finished speaking, to smile and ask, with some show of
interest, what the very important matter was.

'"Important to you, I suppose you mean, Beatrice?  I don't feel as if
anything was of much importance to me now, except news of Oliver, and
that I know you cannot have got."

'"You don't know anything of the sort, my dear," replied her Ladyship
mischievously.  "Perhaps I have, and perhaps I have not.  There,
don't look so wild.  You shan't hear the story at all unless you let
me tell it in my own way."

'I leant back in my chair, sighing impatiently; and Lady Beatrice
went on:

'"You know that yesterday the Lady Derby, one or two others, and
myself, went up to London to see the merry-making at St. James's
Fair.  My Lord Chamberlain escorted us, and as he was the only
gentleman, he nearly ruined himself in buying fairings for us all.
Oh! we had the merriest day, I assure you, I ever spent.  I wish you
had been there.  However, if you had, I should not have met with the
little adventure I am about to relate to you.  It would have fallen
to your share.  Ah, you have no idea of what you missed!  I must show
you the shoe-buckles; they are of a new design, and very elegant.
But to return to the stranger gallant I was talking about."

'"Why, Beatrice, how you run on!  You have not got to any gallant at
all, except the Lord Chamberlain."

'"Had I not?  Well, listen then.  As we got out of our coach at St.
James's Gate, I dropped my kerchief.  I turned back to look for it,
and so was one minute behind the others.  The Lord Chamberlain was so
busy protecting the ladies through the crowd that he never missed me,
and by the time I had found what I wanted, they were quite out of
sight.  I was beginning to get frightened, when, by good luck, a
strange gentleman came forward, and offered very politely to escort
me to my friends.  Of course I was very thankful to him for his
courtesy (for I am sure I could never have faced the rabble by
myself), and we found the rest again before we had gone many steps.
But this was not all.  Lady Derby rebuked me so roundly for loitering
and speaking to a stranger, that I did not dare tell her what
happened afterwards.  We met some gentlemen of our acquaintance in
the fair, and while the others were talking to them, I said I would
go and choose a fairing for you.  I was looking at these same
shoe-buckles, when up came the strange gentleman again, bowed very
low, and, addressing me by my name, asked whether I would pardon his
rudeness in speaking to me, and do him the great favour of pointing
out which among my friends was Mistress Frances Dalrymple.  We all
had our black vizards on, you know; so how he found out who I was
passes my comprehension.  He seemed sorely disappointed when I told
him you were not there; and as he had been so civil, I could not help
saying that you were a great friend of mine, and that I would, if he
pleased, bear you any message he chose to send."

'"Oh, Beatrice, how could you be so giddy?" I began reproachfully,
but she interrupted me.

'"Nay, do but hear me out, and you shall scold me as much as you like
afterwards.  He told me that he knew your brother very well; that he
had seen him lately, and had tidings from him which could only be
delivered to your private ear."

'"From Oliver!  Who can it be?" I said wonderingly, becoming much
interested, though still rather doubtful.  "But pray, if he wants to
see me, why cannot he go to my father in a straightforward way, and
ask for a proper introduction?"

'"He said it was impossible," replied Beatrice; "that there were
reasons which he was sure you would approve which made secrecy
absolutely necessary; that he had a token from your brother which
would prove to you at once that he was speaking the truth.  And
so--in fact, he looked so pitiful, that--that--

"Well?" I said impatiently.

'"Well," she continued, "I arranged that he should have a private
interview with you here in the Palace."

'"With me! without asking my consent first!  Really, Beatrice, this
is too much.  Your thoughtlessness passes belief.  How could you
promise such a thing to a total stranger?  Why, I do not even know
the man's name!"

'"He said his name was Carroll, I think," replied Lady Beatrice
demurely, but looking nevertheless mischievously delighted at my
vexation; "and as to being a perfect stranger, why, he was as anxious
to see you as if he had known you all his life."

"I will not see him," I said indignantly.  "No gentleman would try to
obtain an interview with a lady without her own permission; and yet,
if he really has news of Oliver----!  Oh, Beatrice, what shall I do?"

'But Beatrice would do nothing but laugh at my perplexities, and
declare that I was as discreet and formal in my ideas as Lady Derby
herself.

'"Conceive the Countess's horror," she said, "if it ever came to her
ears that Mistress Frances Dalrymple, the most discreet, well-behaved
damsel in the Palace, had had a secret interview with a mysterious
stranger under her very nose!  Oh, I would give anything to see her
face when she found it out!"  And Beatrice went into another fit of
laughter, from which she recovered with some difficulty, and went on:
"Seriously, Frances, you ought to be very much obliged to me for
taking all this trouble to procure you news from your brother.  Why,
only half an hour ago you were in despair because you had not heard
from him."

'"But then, why all this secrecy?" I objected again, though rather
more faintly.

'"Pshaw, child, how suspicious you are!  There may be twenty reasons
for that.  The gentleman may be in debt; he may have killed his
antagonist in a duel; or suppose he should be your brother himself,
in some dreadful difficulty or danger, come home to see you in
disguise!"

'"Oh, if I thought that!" I cried, starting up.  "But it is too
improbable; and yet I don't know Oliver is so very rash and hasty, he
might have involved himself in some serious trouble, and be afraid of
applying to my father; but then it could not be safe for him to come
here."

'"Ah! now you are getting something more reasonable, so I will tell
you what I have arranged.  Truth to tell, the gentleman did want me
to promise that you should meet him in the park early this morning,
but I thought I never should be able to make you agree to that; for
it did not strike me till this moment that he might be only your
brother after all.  Do you know, Frances, I shall be quite
disappointed if he is; it spoils my little romance completely."

'"Hush! oh, hush!  It must be Oliver.  Why did I not think of it
before?  Tell me quick, when am I to see him, and where?  And are you
sure he will not be discovered?  I cannot think how you have
contrived it."

'"Ah! that is my affair.  Do you suppose I have never managed a
secret meeting before now?  But don't look so frightened.  Not a soul
in the Palace will be the wiser for Mr. Carroll's comings and goings.
He is to be a haberdasher, come to shew you some new stuffs for your
dress at the masquerade next week.  One of the pages of the
back-stairs, on whom I can depend, will conduct him here, and will
answer any questions that are asked about him.  What o'clock was
that--four?  He will be here directly."

'"Directly?  Oh, Beatrice!  I had no idea it was to be so soon.  Why
did you not tell me all this earlier?"

'For all reply, Beatrice held up her hand and listened.

'"Hark! he is coming.  I hear footsteps along the gallery.  Farewell,
Frances.  I must not spoil the _tête-à-tête_.  I shall vanish through
this door as Mr. Carroll is coming in at the other."

'And she was as good as her word, in spite of my despairing attempt
to catch her hand, and my hurried whisper of "Pray don't go," as my
first glance at the face of the stranger assured me that he was not
Oliver after all.  The page who had announced Mr. Carroll withdrew,
after a low bow, and I was left alone with my strange visitor.  I was
so confused by his sudden entrance, and by the conversation I had
just been having with Beatrice, that the self-possession my six
months' sojourn at Court had taught me entirely evaporated; and it
was not until I had finished a most profound courtesy, in return for
an equally elaborate salutation from Mr. Carroll, that I ventured
once more to look him in the face.  No, it was not Oliver.  No amount
of disguise could have changed his blue eyes into brown ones, or
altered his well-remembered features into those I saw before me.  The
gentleman was entirely unknown to me, I felt certain; and with this
thought came back my resentment at his unwarrantable intrusion.  So I
summoned up my dignity with a great effort, and said, "The Lady
Beatrice Falkland has informed me that you have tidings of my brother
to give me, sir.  I trust he was safe and well when you last saw him?"

'"I am speaking then to Lady Desmond?" asked Mr. Carroll eagerly, and
with such a peculiar emphasis on the name as made me give an
involuntary start.  "Pardon me, madam.  I should have said Mistress
Frances Dalrymple; but your brother always speaks of you by your
husband's name, and so has taught me to do the same."

'"My father wishes me to be called so," I said (wondering at the same
time why I was making this explanation to a stranger, and much
confused by the knowledge that my visitor's eyes had scarcely left my
face since he entered the room), "and I am becoming so used to it,
that--that----"

'"I understand," said Mr. Carroll, in a slow, quiet tone, which
contrasted strangely with his former hurried, excited manner.  "You
are beginning to forget that you ever bore any other?  Well, no doubt
it is best that it should be so.  Sir Bernard's policy has succeeded
well.  But I crave your pardon once more," he continued, as I
coloured with surprise and embarrassment.  "You are longing for news
of your brother, and are justly wondering what right I have to allude
to your private concerns.  Perhaps, when you have read these letters,
you will forgive me for forcing my presence on you; and if you do
not, why, I will never trouble you with it again."

'I held out my hand eagerly for the packet, overjoyed at the sight of
Oliver's well-known handwriting; but something in the tone of Mr.
Carroll's voice made me pause and cast a puzzled, anxious glance at
him before I opened my letter.  He half smiled as his eyes met mine;
and instantly such a flood of misty, bewildering recollections rushed
across my mind, that I was obliged to cover my face with my hands and
wonder vaguely where I was, before I could find voice enough to ask
the question which was trembling on my lips.  The large drawing-room
at Horsemandown rose clear and distinct before me.  I seemed to feel
once more mamma's hand on my shoulder, pressing me forward, and to
hear Sir Harry Mountfort's loud, jovial voice introducing, with mock
formality, to Mistress Frances Dalrymple her future bridegroom, the
Earl of Desmond.  Was I dreaming?  "Could it really be?" I began to
ask myself.  But before I had time to finish the sentence, or courage
to look up, Mr. Carroll had made two steps forward, taken my hands in
his, and said, "Frances, do you know me?" in a tone of such wistful
anxiety, that I was compelled to answer.

'"Are you really Algernon?--I mean my Lord Desmond?" I stammered out,
not because I doubted any longer, but because, in the entanglement of
my ideas, I could think of nothing better to say.

'"I am indeed.  Have I frightened you very much?" he exclaimed
earnestly, as with crimson cheeks and beating heart I withdrew my
hands, and sank into a chair.  "Forgive me, madam.  I have been too
abrupt.  I did not intend to part with my secret till you had been
prepared for it by your brother's letter."

'"Oh no, I am not frightened, only very, very much surprised," I
faltered.  "I did not know it was safe for you to come to England.  I
never thought of seeing you here."

'"It is not safe," he replied carelessly.  "I am entirely in your
power.  If you choose to betray me, or if your friend does not keep
our counsel very rigorously, I should be committed to the Tower
without fail, and most likely share the fate of many a one before me.
But I am not afraid.  I know enough of Oliver to feel sure that his
sister could not be treacherous, even had I no claim on her but that
of her brother's friendship."

'"Surely not," I said eagerly.  "But oh! there must be many other
chances of discovery.  What could make you run such a fearful risk?"

'"You would not think so much of the risk if you had been in peril of
your life as often as I have," said Lord Desmond, with a smile which
recalled to me my bridegroom of eleven years ago.  "I have been
employed in so many hazardous intrigues, and have had so many
hair-breadth escapes, that for the life of me I cannot feel as
alarmed about my fate as I used to be.  As to my reason for coming,
you shall hear that presently, when you have read your brother's
letter, which will show you that I had his authority at least for
obtaining an interview with you, and as much help as he could give me
in contriving it."

'I broke the seal and tried to read, but my mind refused to take in
the sense of the words.  I could think of nothing but the wonderful
discovery I had made; and after gazing absently at the paper for
about a minute, I put it down to say, "How did you meet Oliver?  I
thought you were in France.  I don't seem to understand anything yet."

'"It was," replied Lord Desmond, "at a chocolate house at the Hague
that I saw him first.  He had been sent to the Government there with
despatches from the generals in Flanders.  I--well!--I had private
business there connected with the affairs of His Majesty at St.
Germains.  I heard your brother's name mentioned accidentally, sought
him out at his lodgings, and made myself known.  I could not resist
the temptation of finding out how I stood with you all, though, as a
Jacobite and an exile, I know I had no right to expect any
countenance from an officer in King William's army.  Oliver was most
generous and kind, greeted me as warmly as if we had been brothers
indeed, and declared that he had long been hoping that chance would
bring us together again.  That meeting altered all my plans for the
future.  Before that I had been frittering away my time at St.
Germains, seeing plot after plot for bringing the King back to his
rights fail; and at last, when I found assassination and treachery
were to be the means employed for his restoration, almost resolving
to renounce politics altogether, enter some foreign service where I
should not be obliged to fight against England, and so push my way up
to distinction.  The King's cause seemed to me hopeless after the
affair of La Hogue.  I could do him no good by living on at his Court
as a pensioner on his bounty, and I was wearied to death with the
splendour, the bustle, the squabbles and jealousies of Versailles and
St. Germains.  It was just when I had made up my mind to this that I
received a letter from Sir Bernard Dalrymple.  You know the proposal
it contained?"

'"I knew he purposed writing to you, but I did not know he had
actually done so," I said in surprise.

'"Indeed! then your brother was right after all.  I was convinced,
from what Sir Bernard said, that you, as well as he, wished to break
off all connection between us.  I did not wonder, for I saw that it
was hard for you to be bound for life to a man without fortune,
friends, or position; and I should certainly have taken your father
at his word, and have allowed him to try all the means in his power
to break off our marriage and leave you free, had it not been for the
sight of Oliver's face in that Dutch coffee-house.  It reminded me,
somehow, of your mother, and of your home at Horsemandown, where
everything looked bright and cheerful, and you all so much happier
than I had ever been.  I really believe it was his likeness to her
which made me suddenly resolve to find out where he lived, and try if
he would remember our old friendship."

'Here Lord Desmond paused a moment, but, as I did not speak, he went
on.  "You cannot imagine," he said, "what Oliver's kindness was to
me.  I had been so long alone in the world, that to be treated as if
belonging to his family, to be told of all that had befallen them
since last we met, as if he was sure of my sympathy and interest, was
wonderfully strange and pleasant to me.  And then he talked of you so
fondly and proudly; he was so certain that you knew nothing of Sir
Bernard's ambitious schemes in connection with your marriage (rumours
of which had reached the gossiping little Court of St. Germains); he
was so indignant at your father's letter;--that I began to have a
faint, wild hope that you might think like him; that, perhaps, if----
In short, I determined, at all hazard, to see you once more, to hear
your own wishes from your own lips, and not to give your father an
answer, one way or another, until I should know them."

'My wishes!  What were they?  Half an hour before I should have
declared unhesitatingly for freedom; not for the sake of making a
grand marriage, but that I might continue my present careless,
butterfly life, looking forward no further than to the days when
Oliver should have returned from the wars, when we should all be
together again, and pay a happy visit to Horsemandown.  But now, when
my eyes were full of tears at hearing Oliver spoken of by one who
seemed to care for him almost as much as I did--when Lord Desmond's
allusion to my mother had brought back to me the remembrance of the
words she had used when she first told me I was to be married:
"Remember, Frances, you are about to make a vow you will one day be
called on to fulfil"--now everything was changed.  What could I feel
but pity for him, and self-reproach for my own hard-hearted conduct
in refusing all help to Oliver, when he had tried his utmost to
influence my father in Algernon's favour?  But I would make up for
that now.  I would use all the power I possessed to persuade my
father to intercede with the King; and if that failed, I would
petition the Queen myself for a reversal of the sentence of
banishment.  I would do anything and everything to show my brother's
friend that I was not the ambitious, calculating woman of the world
he had pictured to himself.  I would justify Oliver's trust in me,
and then----

'"I am very sorry, Frances--I must come in," said the voice of
Beatrice at the door, before I had time to say one word aloud in
answer to Lord Desmond's appeal.  "I have knocked three times, and
have had no answer.  The Queen commands your attendance in her
cabinet immediately.  She asked where you were; and when I replied
with my little fiction about the haberdasher and the new stuffs, Lady
Derby was seized with a desire to come and see them; so I ran on
before to warn Mr. Carroll to make good his escape by the back-stairs
before she arrives, unless he has bethought him of bringing some
brocades and satins with him to bear out his supposed character."

'I started up in a tremor of agitation and dismay.  "Oh, go! make
haste; you will be discovered.  She will be here directly."

"'I must see you again; but where?" said Lord Desmond, in a low
voice, grasping the hand I held out to him as if he never meant to
let it go.

'"Yes, yes, you shall.  Come to the gardens--to the hornbeam walk
they call Queen Mary's Bower--it will be safer than here--to-morrow
at eight, when Her Majesty is at supper," replied Beatrice rapidly,
as, confused and helpless, I looked to her for a suggestion.

'"You promise?" eagerly asked Algernon.

'"Yes, I promise," I repeated after him, in as steady a tone as my
fright would permit.

'He hurriedly raised my hand to his lips, bowed low to Beatrice, and
quitted the room without any further delay.  It was not one moment
too soon.  Beatrice had barely time to close the door behind him and
execute a little pirouette, expressive of satisfaction and relief,
when Lady Derby entered by the opposite door, in a state of
displeased surprise at my non-appearance in the Queen's cabinet.
What excuses Beatrice made for me, and how I managed to go through
the usual routine of duties for the rest of the day, I do not now
remember.  I was in a sort of dream the whole time, thinking over all
that Lord Desmond had told me, building fantastic castles in the air,
and impatiently longing for night, when I might be alone again, and
read Oliver's letter in peace and quietness.  The afternoon promenade
had never seemed so irksome, nor supper such an endless business
before.  At cards I did not know whether my fortune was good or bad
until I was told, and received the announcement of my losses so
placidly, that I was complimented on the sweetness of my temper.  I
cannot say there was much sweetness left in it by the time bedtime
came.  Early as the hour was at which the Household retired to rest,
I felt as if it never would come.  When, however, at last ten o'clock
struck, and the Queen had been attended with the usual formalities to
her bed-chamber, and all the ceremonious "good-nights" had been said,
Beatrice Falkland put her arm into mine as I turned towards my own
room, and begged me to take pity on her, for she was dying of
curiosity to know who the mysterious Mr. Carroll really was, and what
his business with me.  Of course I told her everything, and the story
was sufficiently out of the common way to satisfy even he: appetite
for romance.

'"My dear Frances," she said, "I vow it is exactly like the plot of
the last play we went to see.  A cruel father! a lover in disguise! a
secret meeting!  All _en regie_; only I believe that the hero in the
piece had stabbed the heroine's brother, or poisoned her uncle, or
committed some crime of that sort.  'Tis rather a pity that you are
already married.  It spoils the dramatic 'situation.'  Now, own
yourself grateful to me for my address in managing this little
adventure for you.  You would never have consented to see that poor,
despairing, handsome Mr. Carroll, if I had given you any choice in
the matter."

'But the subject appeared too serious for more than a very faint
smile at Beatrice's extravagances; and when she rushed with much zest
into a description of the various stratagems necessary for the
management of my promised interview in Queen Mary's Bower, I became
alarmed and bewildered at the prospect of what I had undertaken.  I
could not enjoy the concealment and mystery as she seemed to do, and,
moreover, I was very doubtful of my power of so keeping my secret
that no one in the Palace should suspect me of having one.  Had it
not been for my promise to Lord Desmond, and my desire to prove to
him that I too could be generous and disinterested, I really believe
I should have given up the fulfilment of the appointment altogether.
But it was too late for that.  So I let Beatrice talk on till she had
fairly tired herself out; and when at last she departed, I gave a
sigh of relief, and, snatching the precious letter from my pocket,
prepared to get what comfort I could from the closely written pages.
Oliver's warm praises of his friend, and his assurance that I should
soon learn to care for Algernon as much as he did, made me smile and
blush a little; and when he told me all that he had gradually learnt
of Lord Desmond's utter friendlessness and poverty--of how, in spite
of the services he had rendered the King, he was barely tolerated at
the Court of St. Germains, on account of the difference of his
religion--of how he had indignantly rejected the proposal of
receiving my dowry as the price of the resignation of his bride--my
doubt and despondency melted away entirely, and I resolved, more
firmly than ever, to help him.

'But that meeting in Queen Mary's Bower, which I thought of all the
next morning with a mixture of feelings impossible to describe, never
took place after all.  Long before the appointed hour arrived, the
news had spread through the Palace that the banished Earl of Desmond
had been discovered in disguise, lurking in the neighbourhood of
Hampton Court, apprehended, and sent off to the Tower.  Beatrice
brought me the tidings, looking scared and horrified--as well she
might: for to be sent to the Tower on the charge of conspiring
against the Government was a prelude to certain death in case of the
prisoner being found guilty; and Lord Desmond's name had so long been
connected with the Jacobitical plots, that there was little chance of
the accusation, falling to the ground for lack of witnesses and
proofs.  But if Beatrice was distressed, I was perfectly dumb with
horror.  Was this to be the end of all my brilliant plans for gaining
Lord Desmond's pardon, and then recalling him from exile and
obscurity to the enjoyment of "his own again"--the produce of my own
exertions and entreaties?  Was he no longer to have even the wretched
alternative of death, and the life of banishment and poverty of which
he was so weary?  Oh, why had he been so mad as to risk his liberty
for the sake of seeing me for a few minutes?  And what an
unsatisfactory interview it had been!  "He does not even know the
answer I meant to have given him," I cried in despair.  "I daresay he
thinks me a mercenary, heartless, unfeeling wretch, and that his
arrest is of my contriving.  Oh, Beatrice, what shall I do?"  But
though I asked the question, I knew that I might as well expect
counsel from a humming-bird, or a butterfly, as from Beatrice.

'No one could be more bright and ready in managing the little
intrigues and adventures in which she delighted.  But the present
emergency was much too serious for her; and she could only cry and
caress me, put on a very pretty air of penitence for her share in
bringing about our misfortunes, and suggest schemes of rescue and
flight which could only succeed on the stage, and which, even there,
would have been scouted by a critical audience.  I could not help
giving a somewhat derisive smile at her very wild schemes, and then
sat trying to collect my thoughts, and decide what course of action I
had better take first.  Something must be done, and that speedily.
But what?  Would it be best to explain everything to the Queen, and
entrust Algernon's safety to her kind heart and merciful
interference? or should I rush to my father, who was in London,
absorbed in parliamentary business, and bespeak his influence and
aid, as if I had no more doubt of his will than of his power to be of
assistance to his son-in-law?

'"You had better go and ask the advice of your friend the Baroness
Von Hoogstraaten, if you only laugh at mine," said Beatrice,
pretending to pout, though she was too good-natured to be really
angry.

'"So I would, if she was but here," I answered, sighing.  "Henrietta
is so wise and clear-headed, she would be sure to know what would be
best."

'"Did you not know," replied Beatrice, "that she had come back from
Gloucestershire?  She will be at the reception this afternoon; so you
can consult with her as much as you please."

'This was good news for me; for Henrietta Sidney, now the wife of a
Dutch nobleman, one of the King's most tried and trusted friends, was
still as much as ever what I liked to call her, my elder sister, who
laughed at me for my little vanities, shook her head when I did
anything especially foolish, and whom I loved and admired as much as
in the days when our friendship first began in the prison at Taunton.

'I used to see her very often when she was at her own house, near
Hampton, but of late she had been visiting her father; and I, left to
my own devices and management, felt that I certainly had not improved
in judgment and discretion since we parted.  Impatient as I was,
however, to pour out all my troubles to her, I was obliged to wait
till the next day to do so, for the reception was an unusually
crowded one.  The Baroness von Hoogstraaten had many acquaintances,
and, moreover, she was a great favourite with the Queen, who talked
to her so long about the buildings that were being added to the
Palace, and the improvements in the gardens, that I had no time to do
more than greet her very warmly, and tell her, with a very rueful
expression in my looks, how much I wanted to see her in private.

'"Her Majesty has given you permission to come and breakfast with me
to-morrow, Frances," she said, smiling at my dismal countenance; "so
you must keep your budget of Court gossip till then.  It must be a
full one, to judge by your eager face."

'But I could not return the smile; and as I felt rather hurt at the
allusion to Court "gossip," I felt a gloomy satisfaction in allowing
Henrietta to depart under the impression that something very dreadful
indeed had happened, rather hoping she would pass a sleepless night
in trying to find out what it could possibly be.  But when I met her
next morning in her own garden, where she was superintending the
fanciful clipping of the yew-trees Baron Hoogstraten loved, I saw
that she knew already part at least of what I had to tell.

'"Forgive me, dear, for my little joke yesterday," she said.  "Now I
know that poor Lord Desmond is a prisoner in the Tower, I understand
your troubled look well enough."

'"Ah, but you don't know all!" I said in a trembling voice, "Now
listen, Henrietta, and give me all the help you can.  I am
half-distracted with trying to think what I had best do; for save
Lord Desmond's life I must, and I know not how to set about it."

'I told my story without interruption, for Henrietta was never in a
great hurry to express her own opinions; and we walked the whole
length of the terrace, after I had finished, without her uttering a
word.  When we had reached the end of the long, straight path, she
stopped, and said in her gentle, considerate voice--

'"Frances, dear, before I promise anything, I want you to answer me
one question.  Supposing it possible to gain Lord Desmond's pardon,
as I hope and trust it may be, is his wife prepared to follow him
into the exile and poverty I fear will still be his? or does she only
want to pay the debt of gratitude she has owed so long, and be free?"

'"I don't know--I don't know anything," I said, beginning to sob
helplessly.  "Oh, Henrietta, save him first, and we can settle
everything else afterwards."

'Henrietta put her arm round my waist, and drew me towards the house,
saying, as if I had given the most lucid and sensible answer in the
world:

'"Then come with me, dear, for there is no time to be lost.  Lord
Desmond's trial is to take place in a week; but if you are brave and
patient, I THINK HE CAN BE SAVED."'

Uncle Algernon stopped here for a moment, and then said: 'The rest of
the story must be told in Lord Desmond's words, for it concerns him
even more nearly than his wife; and, besides, it really is his turn
now: her Ladyship has had a great deal more than her fair share in
the narrative.'



CHAPTER VII.

UNCLE ALGERNON'S LAST STORY.

Some hours after my incursion into the Palace of Hampton Court, I was
wandering about under the chestnut-trees in Bushy Park.  I had been
loitering there all that hot summer afternoon, watching from a
distance the brightly-dressed group that had emerged from the Palace
grounds, and crossed over the grass towards the piece of water at the
south side of the park.  I knew that it was Queen Mary and her ladies
taking their usual afternoon stroll; and though I did not venture so
near as to see their faces, there was a certain silver-grey gown and
carnation-coloured petticoat which I recognised directly, and which I
gazed upon with intense interest.  They hovered about by the
water-side for a while, and then strolled back again over the grass,
and re-entered the great iron gates which separated the Palace
gardens from the park.  I watched them intently until they were out
of sight; and then, turning away, wandered through the trees once
more, until I came to the water's edge where they had been standing.
There I stood, staring absently down at the bright blue sky, dotted
with soft flakes of cloud, like pink shells, which lay reflected in
the water beneath me.  I was thinking of the curious stolen interview
with my wife, which I had so long set my heart upon obtaining, and
which, after all, had been so short, hurried, and unsatisfactory.
Not that I had been disappointed in her--no, indeed, far from it!
Oliver's description had in some degree prepared me for her unusual
beauty.  I remembered, too, how Sir Harry used to prophesy that she
would some day be a lovely woman; and the first glance told me that
his prophecy had been a true one.  Among all the many lovely faces
that I had seen at the Hague, at St. Germains, even at the Court of
Louis XIV. himself, not one was there which I thought so beautiful as
hers.  Besides the clearly cut features, the sparkling, mischievous
hazel eyes, and brilliant yet delicate complexion, there was a
peculiar expression, arch, bright, and what the French would call
_malin_, and yet at the same time very sweet and thoughtful--a look
which I had never seen in any other face but that of my friend
Oliver.  No, it was not that I was disappointed in Frances, but that
I wanted to have seen more of her--to have found out what her real
wishes were, and whether they went with those of her father or of her
brother.  That question was a very difficult one to answer; for she
had spoken but little, and the anxiety which she had shown on account
of my peril, and the tears that rose in her eyes as she listened to
my story, were doubtless simply because I was the friend of her
favourite brother.  How could I expect her to feel anything like
cordiality towards a husband whom she had seen but once in her life,
and that for a single day, more than eleven years ago? a husband,
too, without home or fortune, who was living with a sword over his
head, and to be rid of whom was well known to be the heart's desire
of her father?  I stood pondering these things on the water's brink
till the sun had set; and when I roused myself at last, I was quite
amazed to find that the statue of Diana on the fountain in the middle
of the water had become only a dusky outline against the sky, and the
wreaths of rose-coloured cloud had turned into one heavy leaden bank
upon the horizon.  It was clearly time to turn my steps towards
Kingston, where I had been lodging for the last few days.

'So I sauntered leisurely towards the nearest gate of the park.  A
dark figure was moving about under a clump of chestnut-trees close at
hand; but, as I came near, it vanished suddenly, and I passed on,
thinking that it was most likely a startled deer.  But just as I was
turning out of the gate, there was a stealthy footstep behind me, and
I paused to look back.  One moment more and a hand was laid upon my
shoulder, and I heard the fatal words:

'"You are arrested in the King's name."

'My hand was on my sword in an instant, but I had not time to draw
it.  Several more figures had already rushed through the gateway.  My
arms were held down, my sword unfastened, and I was dragged out of
Bushy Park a prisoner.

'I need not say how bitter and desponding were the thoughts that
filled my mind that night during our dark voyage up the Thames, on
our way to the Tower.  In a few hours I was about to pass through the
Traitor's Gate; and I knew well, when I considered my case soberly,
how very slender was my chance of leaving the Tower again, except for
the scaffold.  There was only one person in England who might perhaps
speak a word in my behalf; and even if for her brother's sake she
should take the trouble to speak it, was it likely that her petition
would be of any use?  Would not her father throw all his power into
the opposite scale?  Besides, I felt that my offences against King
William were far too great and too notorious to be forgiven.  My fate
was sealed, and through my own desperate rashness.

'There was an end now of the meeting in Queen Mary's Bower, which I
had forced Frances, half against her will, to promise me.  I wondered
when she would hear of my arrest.  For one moment the doubt crossed
my mind whether she might not already know it--whether it could
indeed be possible that she had betrayed the secret of my visit to
the Queen.  But no, I knew that it could not be so.  Was she not
Oliver's sister?  Had she not Oliver's truthful eyes, and frank,
honest smile?  Far more likely that my pretty little acquaintance of
St. James's Fair, the lively, sparkling Lady Beatrice, had been
babbling to some of her companions of the matter--perhaps to the
Queen herself.  Or, after all, might not the discovery have been made
most easily through the page who had admitted me into the Palace? or
that old Lady Derby, who so very nearly caught me in Frances' room?
Her suspicions might have been roused, and then doubtless she would
soon manage to come to the bottom of the whole story.  But Frances
had not betrayed me; or, if she had, it was involuntarily, not
through treachery.  I could have staked my life upon that.  No; I had
no right to blame any one but myself.  I had been madly reckless, and
I must abide by the consequences.

'Ten days had gone by, and I knew what the price of that morning's
recklessness was to be.

'My trial was over, and my dark foreboding was coming to pass.  Three
more days I was to spend in the Tower, and then I was to die upon the
scaffold.  Not a word had I heard of Frances since the night that I
was taken prisoner; but her father had been in court on the day of my
trial, and the same night I had received a letter from him, in which
he offered to use all his interest with the Government to gain my
pardon, but upon one condition.  I must give him my promise to agree
that my marriage with his daughter should be dissolved.  We were now
both of age, and at liberty to break it off by mutual consent.  His
reasons for wishing this, he said, were of course clear enough to me;
and he doubted not that I should agree without hesitation to take a
course which was plainly the best for his daughter's interests, and
the only one which gave me a hope of escape.  But Sir Bernard said
nothing of his daughter's wishes on the subject.  If Frances really
was as anxious as himself to dissolve the marriage, surely he would
have laid as much stress as possible upon that argument.  Perhaps he
meant her to have no voice in the matter; or did he take it for
granted that her wishes were the same as her father's?  I rather
wondered that Sir Bernard should have chosen to interfere at all with
my fortunes.  I was sentenced to death, and if I died, his daughter,
whether she was my wife or not, would of course be free.

'When the sentence was pronounced, I had not felt for a moment the
slightest expectation that a pardon was to be procured on any terms,
and had made up my mind to meet my fate as became a soldier.  Still,
it seemed very hard to die so early--harder now, I fancied, than it
would have been a month ago.  Yet if my only hope of life was to give
up all claim to be Frances Dalrymple's husband!----  No; I could not
bear to think of being released from my engagement merely to save my
own head from the scaffold.  Honour and pride alike forbade that.  So
I wrote in answer to Sir Bernard's proposal, that if my wife could
truthfully say that it was her own unbiassed wish that the marriage
should be broken off, I was ready to give my consent; but upon that
condition alone.  I did not allude to the hopes he had held out of
using his interest with the Government on my behalf, nor did I say
anything of Oliver's friendship with me; for somehow I shrank from
the least approach to what I considered the ignominy of pleading for
my life.  But when the letter was despatched, and day after day
passed on without a word of news having reached my ears concerning my
wife or any of her family, I must own that I felt intensely sick at
heart.  I had been in peril of death over and over again, but never
before had it seemed so close and so real as now.  Pain and death are
not so fearful when one only looks forward to them vaguely, as
possible at any time.  It is knowing the exact moment--feeling that
it will inevitably come, and cannot be put off by any human power
whatever--this is the ordeal which is hard to pass through with
unfaltering courage.

'I stood at the window of my prison, gazing out on the river below.
Escape was utterly out of the question.  My exploit two years ago,
when I triumphantly bore off my friend Will Delamere from the Tower,
was too well remembered to leave the remotest chance for me of
repeating that feat on my own account!  Besides, I had no
fellow-conspirator outside the walls.  Will could never have done it
alone.  Oh, if Oliver did but know of my danger!  Not that he could
really have done anything to help me, but I should at least have had
one friend to stand by me during these last few days of my life.  But
Oliver would hear nothing of my fate till all was over.  This trouble
must be gone through unflinchingly, without one soul who cared about
me to say a word of sympathy or comfort.  I was still gazing
abstractedly at the river, absorbed in these melancholy thoughts,
when footsteps outside the door and the well-known jangle of keys
aroused me.  I looked round, rather expecting to see the chaplain,
who had promised to pay me a visit in the course of the day.  It was
not the chaplain, however, who stood before me, when, after sundry
clicking of locks and grating of bolts, the heavy door was pushed
open at last.  The two figures upon whom I gazed, with dazzled,
astonished eyes, were those of Oliver and Frances Dalrymple.  For a
moment I stood overwhelmed and speechless with surprise, and Frances
also was silent.  Her face was half concealed by her hood, and her
hand was trembling on her brother's arm.

'"Algernon," cried Oliver, grasping my hand eagerly, "who would have
thought of our next meeting being here?"

'"Who indeed?" I gasped out, still in a trance of bewilderment.  "In
sooth, Oliver, I little thought of our ever meeting again at all;
but----"  I paused and glanced at the graceful little figure clinging
to his side.

'"Come, Fan, speak to him.  Tell him the good news yourself," urged
Oliver, looking down at her with a half smile, and trying to draw her
nearer to me.  "Nay, child, he shall not hear a word from me.  You
have the best right to tell it; and he will welcome it more from his
wife's lips than----"

'"Oliver, how can you be so cruel?" she burst out impetuously.  "He
shall not be kept in this suspense.  My Lord Desmond, you are saved.
The King has granted you a pardon, and you are free to leave the
Tower whenever it pleases you."

'A tumult of mixed feelings came rushing over me when I looked into
her sweet, eager face.  She had left her brother's arm, and stood
before me with a beautiful crimson flush on her cheeks, and her dark
eyes glistening with tears, as they had done on that morning of our
last, meeting in the Palace.

'"Saved! and on Sir Bernard's conditions?" I stammered out, hardly
knowing what I said, while a cold pang of doubt and fear shot across
me.  But I did not need Oliver's emphatic "No, no; Sir Bernard has
naught to do with it.  'Tis Fan who has managed all;" for Frances'
reproachful eyes had answered my question, and before her brother had
done speaking, her hands were clasped in mine, and the promise so
lightly spoken in those childish days at Horsemandown was solemnly
repeated now.  Frances and I were husband and wife, until death us
should part.

* * * * * * * * * *

'A few weeks after, my wife and I were sailing out of the mouth of
the Thames, on board a vessel bound for Altona, and Frances, for the
first time in her life looked out upon the sea.  It was with very
wistful eyes that she watched the shores of England growing fainter
and fainter to her sight, for she had never left them before; and now
she was an exile's wife, and might possibly wander over half the
countries of Europe before she saw her native land again.  The pardon
which she had striven so hard to obtain had not been granted without
the proviso that her husband should leave the country at once, and
for ever; and without hesitation she had agreed to leave her own home
and kindred and to share the future--which to her had once looked so
brilliant--with a man whose prospects were already sufficiently
blighted, but which without her would be hopelessly dreary indeed.

'Sir Bernard was very loth to let her go; but as the marriage could
only have been annulled by our mutual consent, he had no choice but
to be reconciled to it.  He and I parted good friends; and he showed
far more affection for his daughter, and sorrow at bidding her
farewell, than I had ever believed him capable of feeling.  But
perhaps the hardest matter to both of us was the saying good-bye to
Oliver, who, on his unexpected return from Holland high in the King's
favour, had done a great deal towards overcoming his father's dislike
to our marriage.  Very many years passed by before we saw his face
again.

'It was not until late in Queen Anne's reign that the sentence of my
banishment was reversed, and my forfeited estates restored.

'Need I say that the first days of our return to England were spent
with Sir Oliver Dalrymple, now the master of Horsemandown, where
Frances and I smiled over the remembrance of our first meeting, and
knelt together once more in the little parish church which had been
the scene of our wedding so very long ago?'



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