"Why, Prue?" exclaimed her sister teasingly, "methought you cared for none save brave men. How canst speak thus of such a proved coward?" "The Duke is no coward," exclaimed Prue hotly. "They be but lying knaves who say otherwise. He is worthy to be followed and," with a saucy glance at her father, "when he comes again I’ll follow him myself." "When he comes again!" cried Deborah in blank astonishment. "La! child, where be thy wits? Dost not know he was beheaded on Tower Hill, two months since?" "Aye, so they say in London," answered the little rebel scornfully. "But what should they know on’t there? Here in the West ’tis known that the Duke escaped, and that ’twas his servant, dressed in his coat, and as like him as pea to pea, whom the soldiers took. He died in his master’s place as would many another, and the Duke will return again to venge himself upon this bloody King." Deborah stared in blank astonishment at the exposition of this astounding theory which, notwithstanding its extravagance, did not lack many believers other than the pretty Prudence. But Mistress Lane would endure no more, and interrupted her daughter sharply. "Prudence, you give your tongue too much license, as I have told you oft. Go to your room and rest there till you be of a better mind. Nay, Thomas, ’tis for the child’s own good; who can say what trouble may befall her if she will not curb that saucy spirit? To your room instantly, Prudence; three days with bread and water will tame you, let us hope, and let us hear no more of this nonsense." Prudence rose slowly with pouting lips, and cast glances of entreaty in the direction of her father, who resolutely refused, however, to meet the eyes of the daughter whom as he knew too well he spoiled. Robert Wilcox’s countenance assumed terrible contortions in its endeavour to express at the same time admiration of Prue’s bravery and indignation at Mistress Lane’s severity, but he dared make no more outspoken remonstrance. Prue saw no escape and was leaving the room to go to her imprisonment when Cicely intervened. "Prithee, Mistress Lane," she pleaded gently, "forgive her. I make no doubt ’twas but consideration for me made her speak so rashly, she will be more careful hereafter. Nay, an you will forgive her, I will be her surety for the next three days that no word of folly pass her lips. You will grant me this, else shall I feel that I have brought dissension into your household, and that would grieve me indeed." She pleaded gently, but urgently, and Mistress Lane could not refuse so honoured a guest. So Prudence was forgiven, after receiving a lecture upon the virtue of silence in the presence of her elders. But so ardent were the looks of gratitude for her interference which Cicely received from the red-headed apprentice, that she learned at least one secret that evening, and intercepting a glance or two ’twixt him and the pretty Prudence, she suspected that she had learned yet another.