The moment after, with a little spice of that caprice which the weariness of the spirit that she talked of often gives, Hortensia added, "If that be Bridgewater, and the villages we see there be occupied by the king's troops, as the people say, they must have somehow passed us; and I should think that we could get across the country to Bristol or Bath early to-morrow. Of course, if Monmouth is before them, they will call in all stragglers and detachments, and the road in their rear must be clear."
"I have good hope it will prove so," replied Ralph; "but if the intelligence we have heard to-night be correct, your own house at Danvers's New Church must be free of these marauders. Nothing is more probable than that Lord Feversham should order Kirke, as the people told us, to join him again by forced marches."
"I wish Stilling would return," said Lady Danvers, with a sigh. "We have fed so long upon the bitter bread of uncertainty, that I am marvelous tired of the diet, Ralph."
"He has not yet been gone half an hour," replied Ralph Woodhall. "Take my counsel, dear lady: go and lie down to rest for a few hours, and as soon as Stilling returns I will send and let you know what news he brings. If I judge right, there will be some one up in the house all night, for the good people are evidently anxious and alarmed in consequence of the near presence of the soldiery."
"If I sleep at all," replied Hortensia, "it shall be in this large chair. Though the back be as tall and stiff as a monument, yet there, ready for any event, I shall rest more quietly than in a bed. I like this sober evening twilight--this sort of middle state of sight, where there is nothing very bright, and nothing very dark, like the calm, even hue of happy mediocrity. Forbid me candles at an hour such as this. I could go on, methinks, musing and pondering in this light for ever, if it would but last--or till the night of age and death fell upon me."
Her quiet melancholy dream ended with the opening of the door; and the good farmer's wife entered, saying, in a broad, Somersetshire dialect, "Come, young folks, don't you sit moping here in the dark. I've got something ready all hot for your supper down below. A plenty of roasted eggs and some bacon, and some good dough cakes as ever were baked. It's poor feeding for such as you, I dare say; but it's the best we can give, and it's given right hearty."
"And so will we partake of it," said Hortensia, rising and laying her hand upon the good woman's arm. "Come, Ralph, let us go to supper; we can employ our time worse, even in sitting thinking sadly here."
"Well, thou art a dear, beautiful lady! and there's the very best cider in the country to boot," said the farmer's wife, walking down the stairs by the side of her fair guest.
Hortensia did not see the connection between herself and the cider; but she asked no questions, and was soon seated at the farmer's supper-table, where, in addition to himself, his wife, and her two guests, were half a score of plowmen and maid-servants, all very decorous in their behavior, though simple and rough enough in their manner.
The conversation turned naturally enough to the situation of Monmouth and the king's troops, and some speculations were indulged in as to the result of the struggle going on. It was evident that the good farmer was a Tory at heart, although he took especial care to guard the expression of his opinions.