Yet, always, the whisper, the suspicion, the doubt, the question, put not in words, but by looks and gestures,—‘What have we women done that we should deserve to rule? and which among us does not know that the Religion of the Perfect Woman was only invented by ourselves for the better suppression of man? Who believes it? What have we done with Love?’
And the sight, the actual sight, of those officers of law going forth to bring in the prisoners, was a dreadful thing to witness.
Meantime, what were the Army of Avengers doing?
Slaughtering, shooting down, bayoneting, no doubt. No farther off than the heights of Hampstead their terrible work was going on. It spoke well for the zeal of these devoted soldiers that they had marched so early in the morning that no one had seen them go by. Very odd, that no one at all had seen them. Would Lord Chester escape? And what—oh what!—would be done with Lady Carlyon, Professor Ingleby and her two daughters, and the crowd of girls who had flocked to London with the rebels? Hanging—mere hanging—was far too good for them. Let them be tortured.
The Procession reached the top of Haverstock Hill. Hampstead Hill alone remained. In a short time the relentless Lady Princetown would be on the field of action. Strange, not only that no sign of the Army had been seen, but that no firing had been heard! Could Lord Chester have fled with all his men?
Now just before the Police Procession reached the Heath, they were astonished by a clattering of mounted soldiers, richly dressed and gallantly armed, who rode down the narrow streets of the town and surrounded them. They were a detachment of cavalry headed by Captain Dunquerque, who saluted Lady Princetown laughing. All the men laughed too.
‘I have the honour,’ he said, ‘to invite your ladyship to take a seat in a tumbril. You are my prisoner.’
‘Where—where—where is the Army?’
‘You mean the Convict Wardens? They fled before daylight. Come, my lads, time presses.’
They were actually in the hands of the enemy!