"I knew it--I knew it, Mistress Olive!" she said, "I knew something must come. But I thought the judgment would fall on the Lord's enemies; and Job and I have been pleading with Him for mercy, even on them. I never thought the sword would fall on the sheep of His pasture. Least of all on the lambs," she added; "on the innocent lambs. But maybe, after all, that was His mercy. They are but gone home by a cruel path, poor innocents--only gone home." Then a burst of tears came to her relief; a neighbour came in to help; and I left to go home without further delay. The few minutes which I had spent at Rachel Forster's bedside had sufficed to gather all the village around the forge; women with babies in their arms and little ones clinging to their skirts; men on their way home from the day's labour with spades and mattocks on their shoulders; the tailor needle in hand; the miller white from the mill; women with hands full of dough from the kneading-trough; none waiting to lay aside an implement, none left hehind but the bedridden, yet none asking a question, or uttering an exclamation, as they passed around the messenger, drinking in the horrible details of the slaughter. Only, in the pauses, a long-drawn breath, or now and then a suppressed sob from the women. Job meanwhile continued, as was his wont, working his feelings into the task he had in hand, so that long before the villagers were weary of listening while the Post told the cruel particulars, heightening the excitement and deepening the silence, the bit was mended, every weak point of hoof or harness had undergone Job's skillful inspection, and offering the messenger another draught at the beer-can, he said to him in his abrupt way,-- "Whither next, master? We may not delay such tidings." "I have letters for Squire Drayton of Netherby Manor," was the reply. "Trust them to me," said Roger. "The best hands you can trust them to," said Job. In consideration of the urgent need of haste, the Post gave us a letter in Dr. Antony's writing to Roger, and in another minute was out of sight beyond the turn of the village street. A little murmur arose among the village-gossips. "No need for breaking a Post short like that, goodman Forster," said the miller's wife; "sure he knows his own business best." "What did we need to hear more, good wife?" was Job's reply. "All England has to hear it yet! Thousand of prayers have to be stirred up throughout the land before night. And haven't we heard enough to make this night a night of watching? Hearkening to fearful tales helps little; and talking less. For this kind goeth not out but with prayer and fasting." And Job turned away into his cottage. But as Roger and I hastened up the street, the village had already broken into little eager groups, and the words, "the Irish Popish Army," and "the Popish Queen," came with bitter emphasis from many voices.