Marion passed the speech by. 'And my father is down at Truro, on Jeffreys' affairs, doubtless. Oh, that Protestant duke whom they hailed as a hero and a saviour! Would to God he had never been born! I was saying to my aunt the night of the ball, you people here have not the slightest idea of the horrors of that time, when my Lord Jeffreys was in the West.' Marion detailed a few of the happenings. 'Now after that,' she concluded, 'can you wonder I fear for Roger?'
'That tempest is over,' said Simone. ''Tis but the growl of the dying thunder now. Dear Mademoiselle, believe me, you have caught a panic from Charity's own state when she wrote that letter, she having doubtless just heard, and saying what people had told her. Something can be done. We must think. May I be forgiven if I order some tea, Mademoiselle?'
Marion nodded absently, and going to the window, set the casement wide, and leaned her arms on the sill.
A little later the servant entered with the tea. Setting a chair by the fire, and taking one of the bowls in her fingers, Simone gently touched her mistress's arm.
'Where is yours?' asked Marion.
Simone's little mouth made a slight moue. 'Je ne l'aime pas, Mademoiselle. But there is some milk. I will drink that, with your permission.'
Presently Marion set down her bowl, and turned to her companion.
'I am going home,' she said abruptly. 'Will you accompany me?'
The brown eyes glowed. 'I ask no greater pleasure, Mademoiselle. But how? What of Madame your aunt?'
'I will write a letter, telling her. But I may not wait for her permission. Unfortunately, too, my uncle is away, and I know not his direction. What can we do?'