It would be sufficient, she knew, for the committee of suffering formed for the relief of distress would help them somehow, and the brave-hearted woman felt she could go to prison cheerfully if her children were taken care of. An hour later there was a meeting at the house of one who knew the Westlands, to consider the case of the children, and there it was decided that a messenger should fetch them by water from the Tower Stairs, and they would be quartered upon three Friends living near, one of their number undertaking to manage this delicate business. At the corner of Soper Lane he met one of those he was in search of, and told him his errand. "It is thought likely that Friend Westland may be sent out to Jamaica or His Majesty's plantation of Virginia, or he may escape with a fine and the loss of his other ear, so that he may be able to maintain his family again by and by." "True, friend; but none can tell how soon thy home and mine may also be desolated, and therefore should we be careful how we take charges we are not able to fulfil," said the other, hastily looking round lest any one should overhear what they were talking about, and suspect them of being Quakers. "But surely we may trust the Lord to provide for us and our little ones?" returned the other in a tone of protest. "Yea, yea, I doubt it not, friend; but still I hold that we should not run needlessly into danger, and this affair of Westland's is becoming the town talk, and to bring his children among our own just now will be to invite persecution. Wait awhile, and then we shall see." "See them starving," interrupted the other, with most un-Quaker-like haste and heat; for the thought of this family of little children being left to the tender mercies of a world that was so cruel to Quakers, made his naturally quick temper rise against the extreme caution of his companion, and without waiting to say another word he turned and walked in the direction of his own home. It was not far from where they had been standing, and in a few minutes he reached the door, which was almost instantly opened by his wife, who had been waiting and watching for his return for nearly an hour. "Now the Lord be praised for bringing thee back to me in safety once more," said Dame Drayton in a glad whisper, as she closed the street door, while her husband hung up his cloak and tall steeple-shaped hat on the peg in the entry. "What news?" she asked. "Bad enough, Martha. Westland is condemned to lose his ears and then be banished to the plantations of Jamaica or Virginia—I am not certain which—and his wife is to be imprisoned in Bridewell until she has earned sufficient to pay the charge of her own transport to join him." "And they have children, Gilbert," said his wife in a pitying tone, lifting her eyes wistfully to her husband's face, as if mutely asking what they were to do for these. He understood the look.