On searching the carriage farther, they had found a breviary, and one of them had read aloud the name of a priest, written in the beginning of the book—a priest whose name was peculiarly obnoxious to some of the leaders.
As soon as they found the breviary, and the rosary, and this priest’s name, the mob grew outrageous, broke the carriage, smashed the windows of the house, and were bursting open the door, when, as Lady Anne told us, she and her mother, terrified almost out of their senses, escaped through the back door just in the dress they were, and made their way through the stables, and a back lane, and a cross street: still hearing, or fancying they heard, the shouts of the mob, they had run on without knowing how, or where, till they found themselves in this square, and saw me at the open window.
“What is it? Tell me, dear,” whispered the orange-woman, drawing me back behind the footman. “Tell me, for I can’t understand her for looking at the figure of her. Tell me plain, or it may be the ruen of yees all before ye’d know it.”
I repeated Lady Anne’s story, and from me the orange-woman understood it; and it seemed to alarm her more than any of us.
“But are they Romans?” (Roman Catholics) said she. “How is that, when they’re not Irish!—for I’ll swear to their not being Irish, tongue or pluck. I don’t believe but they’re impostors—no right Romans, sorrow bit of the likes; but howsomdever, no signs of none following them yet—thanks above! Get rid on ‘em any way as smart as ye can, dear; tell Mr. Montenero.”
As all continued perfectly quiet, both in the back and front of the house, we were in hopes that they would not be pursued or discovered by the mob. We endeavoured to quiet and console them with this consideration; and we represented that, if the mob should break into their house, they would, after they had searched and convinced themselves that the obnoxious priest was not concealed there, disperse without attempting to destroy or pillage it “Then,” said Lady de Brantefield, rising, and turning to her daughter, “Lady Anne, we had better think of returning to our own house.”
Though well aware of the danger of keeping these suspected ladies this night, and though our guardian angel repeatedly twitched us, reiterating, “Ah! let ‘em go—don’t be keeping ‘em!” yet Mr. Montenero and Berenice pressed them, in the kindest and most earnest manner, to stay where they were safe. Lady Anne seemed most willing, Lady de Brantefield most unwilling to remain; yet her fears struggled with her pride, and at last she begged that a servant might be sent to her house to see how things were going on, and to order chairs for her, if their return was practicable.
“Stop!” cried the orange-woman, laying a strong detaining hand on the footman’s arm; “stop you—‘tis I’ll go with more sense—and speed.”
“What is that person—that woman?” cried Lady de Brantefield, who now heard and saw the orange-woman for the first time.
“Woman!—is it me she manes?” said the orange-woman, coming forward quite composedly, shouldering on her cloak.