Chapter IV: The Maids of Taunton (continued) (1)

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.