lessed herself.

* * * * *

From time to time news reached us in this kind of manner. Though we were
not a great distance from London we were in a very solitary place, away
from the high-road that ran to Cambridge; and few came our way. Even in
Puckeridge it was not known, I think, who I was, nor that I was cousin
to Mr. Jermyn; so I had no fear of Mr. Rumbald suspecting me. Green,
Berry, and Hill were all convicted of Sir Edmund's murder, through the
testimony of Bedloe, who said that he had himself seen the body at
Somerset House, and that Sir Edmund had been strangled there by priests
and others and conveyed later to the ditch in Primrose Hill where he was
found. Another fellow, too, named Miles Prance, a silversmith in Princes
Street (out of Drury Lane), who was said by Bedloe to have been privy to
the murder, in the fear of his life, and after inhuman treatment in
prison, did corroborate the story and add to it, under promise of
pardon, which he got. Green, Berry, and Hill, then, were hanged on the
tenth day of February, on the testimonies of these two; and were as
innocent as unborn babes. It was remarked how strangely their names
went with the name of the murdered man and of the place he was found in.

For a while after that, matters were more quiet. A man named Samuel
Atkins was tried presently, but was acquitted; and then a Nathaniel
Reading was tried for suppressing evidence, and was punished for it. But
our minds, rather, were fixed upon the approaching trial of the "Five
Jesuits" as they were called, who still awaited it in prison--Whitbread,
Fenwick, Harcourt, Gavan and Turner--all priests. But I had not a great
deal of hope for these, when I thought of what had happened to the rest;
and, indeed, at the end of May, Mr. Pickering himself was executed. At
the beginning of May too, we heard of the bloody murder of Dr. Sharpe,
the Protestant Archbishop in Scotland, by the old Covenanters, driven
mad by the persecution this man had put them to; but this did not
greatly affect our fortunes either way. One of the most bitter thoughts
of all was that a secular priest named Serjeant, who, with another named
Morris, was of Gallican views, had given evidence in public court
against the Jesuits' casuistry.

Meanwhile, in other matters, we were quiet enough. Still I hesitated in
pushing my suit with my Cousin Dolly, until I could see whether she was
being forced to it or not. But my Cou