Anne repressed an inclination to say this was not the way in which her uncle would wish to get promotion, and only replied, “Your Royal Highness is very good, but—­”

Whereat the Princess, in a huff, exclaimed, “Oh, very well, if you choose to be torn to pieces by the mob, and slaughtered by the priests, like poor Godfrey, and burnt by the Papists at last, unless you go to Mass, you may stay for aught I care, and joy go with you.  I thought I was doing you a kindness for my poor mother’s sake, but it seems you know best.  If you like to cast in your lot with the Pope, I wash my hands of you.”

Accordingly Anne courtesied herself off, not seriously alarmed as to the various catastrophes foretold by the Princess, though a little shaken in nerves.  Here then was another chance of promotion, certainly without treason to her profession of faith, but so offered that honour could not but revolt against it, though in truth poor Princess Anne was neither so foolish nor so heartless a woman as she appeared in the excitement to which an uneasy conscience, the expectation of a great enterprise, and a certain amount of terror had worked her up; but she had high words again in the evening, as was supposed, with the Queen.  Certainly Anne found her own Royal Mistress weeping and agitated, though she only owned to being very anxious about the health of the King, who had had a second violent attack of bleeding at the nose, and she did not seem consoled by the assurances of her elder attendants that the relief had probably saved him from a far more dangerous attack.  Again Anne read to her till a late hour, but next morning was strangely disturbed.

The Royal household had not been long dressed, and breakfast had just been served to the ladies, when loud screams were heard, most startling in the unsettled and anxious state of affairs.  The Queen, pale and trembling, came out of her chamber with her hair on her shoulders.  “Tell me at once, for pity’s sake.  Is it my husband or my son?” she asked with clasped hands, as two or three of the Princess’s servants rushed forward.

“The Princess, the Princess!” was the cry, “the priests have murdered her.”

“What have you done with her, madam?” rudely demanded Mrs. Buss, one of the lost lady’s nurses.

Mary Beatrice drew herself up with grave dignity, saying, “I suppose your mistress is where she likes to be.  I know nothing of her, but I have no doubt that you will soon hear of her.”

There was something in the Queen’s manner that hushed the outcry in her presence, but the women, with Lady Clarendon foremost of them, continued to seek up and down the two palaces as if they thought the substantial person of the Princess Anne could be hidden in a cupboard.

Anne, in the first impulse, exclaimed, “She is gone!”

In a moment Mrs. Royer turned, “Gone, did you say?  Do you know it?”

“You knew it and kept it secret!” cried Lady Strickland.