CHAPTER VIII.
BESSIE'S DISTRESS.
Maud did not wait to hear anything more that the messenger had to tell; whether the Royalists had gained the victory or had to mourn defeat she did not know, and hardly cared. This one fact was enough for her; Harry was wounded—wounded and ill—perhaps dying among strangers. It might be he was prisoner even, and then an ignominious traitor's death awaited him. All the darkest possibilities of his fate rushed to her mind as she walked down the lane to the cottage.
Here her grief was shared by Dame Coppins, who hardly knew what to say to comfort her under such a trial, and could only point her to Him who, having "borne our griefs and carried our sorrows," can sympathise and comfort under the sorest trials.
On reaching the Grange, Maud found that the news had travelled thither before her—news of humiliation, that had put Captain Stanhope quite out of temper.
"By my faith, I cannot believe it!" he was saying, as Maud entered the keeping-room. "Prince Rupert defeated by that son of a brewer and his handful of sorry prentice lads? Master Drury, what think you is likely to happen, forsooth?"
"This varlet messenger, may be, is mistelling the news," said Master Drury, hoping it might be so, for he had thought the rebel troops well nigh crushed out.
Maud wondered whether he had heard the news concerning Harry, and looked across at Mistress Mabel, but that stern, impassive face told nothing, and Mary's, in its proud resolve, no more; and she dared not utter the forbidden name before so many, and so went in search of the children, to ascertain from them what news had come.
She saw in a moment that they had heard both items, for Bessie was sitting in a corner of the garden crying bitterly, while Bertram was marching up and down, telling her what he would do to rescue Harry when he was a man.