—Christopher Harvey.
It was not until the latter part of October that Hilary and her mother returned to Hereford. The news of the occupation of the city by the Earl of Stamford had kept them longer at Whitbourne than had been expected; but the cold of the country did not suit Mrs. Unett, and both mother and daughter were glad to settle down once more in their own home.
Unfortunately, all the girl’s gentle thoughts had been banished by hearing of the occupation of Hereford by the Parliament’s army. She was once again a vehement little hater, and was revelling in the thought of the resolute way in which she would keep Gabriel at a distance, refusing even to notice him if they passed in the street.
As a matter of fact, the city looked exactly as usual on their return, not a shot had been fired, no harm had been done to the cathedral, and except for the discomfort of having soldiers in the place, few people had complaints to make. Even Durdle shocked her young mistress by the favourable way in which she spoke of the army.
“They do say there was some mischief done to Mrs. Joyce Jefferies’ house,” she admitted, “for she and Miss Acton they fled to Garnons in a panic. But had they stayed here all would have been well, for Mr. Gabriel Harford would have taken care of them as he did of us.”
Hilary’s face flamed, but she was too proud to question the housekeeper.
“He was down in the garden the night the soldiers was clamouring at Byster’s Gate,” resumed Durdle, after a pause, “and hearing Maria screaming, he came to the door to ask if aught was amiss, and no one could have been kinder like, nor did he ever let a soldier come nigh the house. And he came to bid me farewell on the fourth of October, when he went away to Worcester to join the army, and spoke that civil and pleasant just as though he’d been naught but a lad still.”
Hilary’s brain seemed to reel; she made a pretence of stooping to pick up a tortoiseshell cat which dozed by the kitchen fire.
“Bad puss, have you been eating blackbeetles, to grow so thin?” she exclaimed, stroking her pet with well-assumed indifference.
“What was that you were saying about Worcester, Durdle?”