'"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.