the papers and clothes--but found nothing except his books and clothes,
and the vestments in a box by themselves, with which the dragoons
made merry, to Harry Esmond's horror. And to the questions which the
gentleman put to Harry, he replied that Father Holt was a very kind man
to him, and a very learned man, and Harry supposed would tell him none
of his secrets if he had any. He was about eleven years old at this
time, and looked as innocent as boys of his age.

The family were away more than six months, and when they returned
they were in the deepest state of dejection, for King James had been
banished, the Prince of Orange was on the throne, and the direst
persecutions of those of the Catholic faith were apprehended by my
lady, who said she did not believe that there was a word of truth in the
promises of toleration that Dutch monster made, or in a single word the
perjured wretch said. My lord and lady were in a manner prisoners in
their own house; so her ladyship gave the little page to know, who was
by this time growing of an age to understand what was passing about him,
and something of the characters of the people he lived with.

"We are prisoners," says she; "in everything but chains, we are
prisoners. Let them come, let them consign me to dungeons, or strike off
my head from this poor little throat" (and she clasped it in her long
fingers). "The blood of the Esmonds will always flow freely for their
kings. We are not like the Churchills--the Judases, who kiss their
master and betray him. We know how to suffer, how even to forgive in the
royal cause" (no doubt it was to that fatal business of losing the place
of Groom of the Posset to which her ladyship alluded, as she did half
a dozen times in the day). "Let the tyrant of Orange bring his rack and
his odious Dutch tortures--the beast! the wretch! I spit upon him and
defy him. Cheerfully will I lay this head upon the block; cheerfully