“No, you don’t say!” ejaculated Millicent. “Did he really, now?—to the Colonel? Well, I’m sure, the world’s getting turned upside down.”
Millicent was considerably more of that opinion when a few months were over. Early one spring morning, before anyone was up, some slight but singular noises roused Mrs Jane from sleep, and calling Jenny, she desired her to look out of the window and see what was the matter.
Jenny’s shriek, when she did so, brought her young mistress to the casement in a moment. Bentley Hall was surrounded by armed men—Parliamentary soldiers, standing still and stern—awaiting in complete silence the orders of their commander.
Mrs Jane went very white, but her self-command did not desert her.
“Never mind screaming, Jenny,” she said coolly. “That will do no good. They’ll not take you, child; and these Roundheads, whatever else they are, are decent men that harm not women and children. I must say so much for them. Come quick, and dress me, and I will go down to them.”
“Oh dear!” cried Jenny. “Madam, they’ll kill you!”
“Not they!” said the young lady. “I’m not afraid,—not of a man, at any rate. I don’t say I should have no fear of a ghost. Jenny, hast thou lost thy head? Here be two shoes—not a pair—thou hast given me; and what art thou holding out the pomade for? I don’t wash in pomade.”
Jenny, who was far more flurried and frightened than her mistress, confusedly apologised as she exchanged the pomade for the soap.
“But—Oh dear! madam, will they take you?” she asked.
“Maybe not, child,” said Mrs Jane, quite coolly. “Very like not. I guess ’tis rather my brother they want. We shall see all the sooner, Jenny, if thou makest no more blunders.”