'The streets
are filled with blue cockades. I rather thought you might have been
among them. I am glad you are not.'
'You have orders for us, master, then?' said Hugh.
'Oh dear, no. Not I. No orders, my good fellow. What orders should I
have? You are not in my service.'
'Muster Gashford,' remonstrated Dennis, 'we belong to the cause, don't
we?'
'The cause!' repeated the secretary, looking at him in a sort of
abstraction. 'There is no cause. The cause is lost.'
'Lost!'
'Oh yes. You have heard, I suppose? The petition is rejected by a
hundred and ninety-two, to six. It's quite final. We might have spared
ourselves some trouble. That, and my lord's vexation, are the only
circumstances I regret. I am quite satisfied in all other respects.'
As he said this, he took a penknife from his pocket, and putting his
hat upon his knee, began to busy himself in ripping off the blue cockade
which he had worn all day; at the same time humming a psalm tune which
had been very popular in the morning, and dwelling on it with a gentle
regret.
His two adherents looked at each other, and at him, as if they were at a
loss how to pursue the subject. At length Hugh, after some elbowing and
winking between himself and Mr Dennis, ventured to stay his hand, and to
ask him why he meddled with that riband in his hat.
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