Lady Vavasour’s terror and agitation were pitiful to see.  In vain Joan strove to soothe and quiet her.  She would listen to no words of comfort.  Not another hour would she remain in that house.  The servants, some of whom had already fled, were beginning to take the alarm in good earnest, and were packing up their worldly goods, only anxious to be gone.  Horses and pack horses were being already prepared, for Lady Vavasour had given half-a-dozen orders for departure before she had made up her mind what to do or where to go.

Now she was resolved to ride straight to her husband, without drawing rein, or exchanging a word with any person upon the road.  Such of the servants as wished to accompany her might do so; the rest might do as they pleased.  Her one idea was to be gone, and that as quickly as possible.

She hurried away to change her dress for her long ride, urging Joan to lose not a moment in doing the same; but what was her dismay on her return to find her daughter still in her indoor dress, though she was forwarding her mother’s departure by filling the saddlebags with provisions for the way, and laying strict injunctions upon the trusty old servants who were about to travel with her to give every care to their mistress, and avoid so far as was possible any place where there was likelihood of catching the contagion.  They were to bait the horses in the open, and not to take them under any roof, and all were to carry their own victuals and drink with them.  But that she herself was not to make one of the party was plainly to be learned by these many and precise directions.

This fact became patent to the mother directly she came downstairs, and at once she broke into the most incoherent expression of dismay and terror; but Joan, after letting her talk for a few minutes to relieve her feelings, spoke her answer in brief, decisive sentences.

“Mother, it is impossible for me to go.  Old Bridget, as you know, is ill.  It is not the distemper, it is one of the attacks of illness to which she has been all her life subject; but not one of these foolish wenches will now go near her.  She has nursed and tended me faithfully from childhood.  To leave her here alone in this great house, to live or die as she might, is impossible.  Here I remain till she is better.  Think not of me and fear not for me.  I have no fears for myself.  Go to our father; he will doubtless be anxious for news of us.  Linger not here.  Men say that those who fear the distemper are ever the first victims.  Farewell, and may health and safety be with you.  My place is here, and here I will remain till I see my way before me.”

Lady Vavasour wept and lamented, but did not delay her own departure on account of her obstinate daughter.  She gave Joan up for lost, but she would not stay to share her fate.  She had already seen something of the quiet firmness of the girl, which her father sometimes cursed as stubbornness, and she felt that words would only be thrown away upon her.  Lamenting to the last, she mounted her palfrey, and set her train of servants in motion; whilst Joan stood upon the top step of the flight to the great door, and waved her hand to her mother till the cortege disappeared down the drive.  A brave and steadfast look was upon her face, and the sigh she heaved as she turned at last away seemed one of relief rather than of sorrow.