'"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?"