It was the same, they heard, with the public conveyances. The panic
was so great that the mails and stage-coaches were afraid to carry
passengers who professed the obnoxious religion. If the drivers knew
them, or they admitted that they held that creed, they would not take
them, no, though they offered large sums; and yesterday, people had
been afraid to recognise Catholic acquaintance in the streets, lest
they should be marked by spies, and burnt out, as it was called, in
consequence. One mild old man--a priest, whose chapel was destroyed;
a very feeble, patient, inoffensive creature--who was trudging away,
alone, designing to walk some distance from town, and then try his
fortune with the coaches, told Mr Haredale that he feared he might not
find a magistrate who would have the hardihood to commit a prisoner to
jail, on his complaint. But notwithstanding these discouraging accounts
they went on, and reached the Mansion House soon after sunrise.
Mr Haredale threw himself from his horse, but he had no need to knock
at the door, for it was already open, and there stood upon the step
a portly old man, with a very red, or rather purple face, who with an
anxious expression of countenance, was remonstrating with some unseen
personage upstairs, while the porter essayed to close the door by
degrees and get rid of him.
Pages:
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807