CHAPTER XXXII.
THE MAN OF SAMARIA.
Tis no other than the Fair Maid of Ilminster!' said Mr. Penne, with surprise. 'Madam, with submission, is it safe—is it prudent—for one who walked with the Maids of Taunton on a certain memorable day, to venture openly into the streets of this city at such a time? Judge Jeffreys doth approach to hold his Court. Thy friends are in prison or in hiding. The Maids are scattered all.'
'I sought shelter,' I said, 'at the house of Susan Blake, the schoolmistress.'
'How? You have not heard, then? Miss Susan Blake is dead.'
'She is dead?'
'She died in Dorchester Jail, whither she was sent, being specially exempted from any pardon. 'Twas fever carried her off. She is dead! Alas! the waste of good lives! She might have bought her freedom after a while, and then—but—well, 'tis useless to lament these mishaps.'
'Alas! alas!' I cried, wringing my hands. 'Then am I in evil plight indeed! All, all are dead!—all my friends are dead!'
'Madam,' he replied very kindly, 'not all your friends, if I may say so. I have, I assure you, a most compassionate heart. I bleed for the sufferings of others; I cannot rest until I have brought relief. This is my way. Oh! I take not credit to myself therefor. It is that I am so constituted; I am not proud or uplifted on this account. Only tell me your case, entrust your safety to me. You may do so safely if you reflect for one moment, because—see—one word from me and you would be taken to prison by yon worthy clergyman, who is none other than the Rev. Mr. Walter Harte, the Vicar of Taunton. No one is more active against the rebels, and he would rejoice in committing thee on the charge of having been among the Maids. A word from me would, I say, cause you to be hauled to jail; but, observe, I do not speak that word—God forbid that I should speak that word!'