It was a trial which cost Isoult Avery many tears. Barbara, too, wept; but no one else, only when Philippa spoke, it was in that short, constrained manner with which some people hide sorrow. Little Kate was in high glee, until she saw her mother weep; and then she looked grave and thoughtful—for about ten minutes.
When they reached the end of the lane which led into the high road from Bradmond, they found Dr Thorpe seated on his bay horse, awaiting them. Behind, on a brown nag, was Dickon, with a bundle strapped at his back.
“Come, friends mine!” cried Dr Thorpe. “If you urge on your horses no faster, we shall sleep on the common to-night.” Then as Bayard came up with him, he added in a lower tone, “It was too true, Jack. Fourteen houses were sacked in Bodmin last night.”
“Of them that had enclosed?”
“Mostly, but not all,” he answered. “They opened the cellars, and set the conduits a-flowing with wine; then, having well drunken, marched to the church, where they cast the new service-book into a bonfire (Note 1); and at after surrounded Father Prideaux (a fictitious person) his house, shouting and singing in uproarious wise, calling upon him to come forth and set himself at their head. (A fair body to be head of!) By God’s providence, he was not within; but it was full two hours ere they would depart, for all the handmaid’s telling of them that her master was from home. At long last they did go thence, and down the streets, shrieking and yelling like fiends.”
“And is it over, think you?” suggested Avery.
“Is it begun?” answered Dr Thorpe. “Tidings came yestre’en of riots in Somerset; and, Jack, the commons have taken Exeter.”
“Taken Exeter!” cried John and Isoult in a breath.
“Taken Exeter!” repeated he. “What think you now?”
“Lord, have mercy upon us!” said Isoult under her breath.