'"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.