Pauline Dunord was as eager for the sermon as Jane Humphreys was for the supper, and Hester Bridgeman was in an odd mood of uncertainty, evidently longing after the sports, but not daring to show that she did so, and trying to show great desire to hear the holy man preach, together with a polite profession of self-denial in giving up her place in case there should not be room for all.  However, as it appeared that even the two chief nurses meant to combine sermon and the latter end of the supper, she was at ease.  The foster-mother and one of the Protestant rockers were supposed to be enough to watch over the Prince, but the former, who had been much petted and spoilt since she had been at the palace, and was a young creature, untrained and wilful, cried so much at the idea of missing the merrymaking, that as it was reckoned important to keep her in good humour and good spirits, Mrs. Labadie decided on winking at her absence from the nursery, since Miss Woodford was quite competent to the charge for the short time that both the church-goers and the supper-goers would all be absent together.

“But are you not afraid to stay alone?” asked Mrs. Labadie, with a little compunction.

“What is there to be afraid of?” asked Anne.  “There are the sentinels at the foot of the stairs, and what should reach us here?”

“I would not be alone here,” said more than one voice.  “Nor I!”—­ “Nor I!”

“And on this night of all others!” said Hester.

“But why?”

“They say he walks!” whispered Jane in a voice of awe.

“Who walks?”

“The old King?” asked Hester.

“No; the last King,” said Jane.

“No, no:  it was Oliver Cromwell—­old Noll himself!” put in another voice.

“I tell you, no such thing,” said Jane.  “It was the last King.  I heard it from them that saw it, at least the lady’s cousin.  ’Twas in the long gallery, in a suit of plain black velvet, with white muslin ruffles and cravat quilled very neat.  Why do you laugh, Miss Woodford?”

This was too much for Anne, who managed to say, “Who was his laundress?”

“I tell you I heard it from them that told no lies.  The gentleman could swear to it.  He took a candle to him, and there was nought but the wainscot behind.  Think of that.”

“And that we should be living here!” said another voice.  “I never venture about the big draughty place alone at night,” said the laundress.

“No! nor I would not for twenty princes,” added the sempstress.

“Nay, I have heard steps,” said Mrs. Royer, “and wailing—­wailing.  No wonder after all that has happened here.  Oh yes, steps as of the guard being turned out!”

“That is like our Squire’s manor-house, where—­”

Every one contributed a story, and only the announcement of Her Majesty’s approach put an end to these reminiscences.