MISTRESS WILDING

By Rafael Sabatini

CONTENTS

 I. POT-VALIANCE

 II. SIR ROWLAND TO THE RESCUE

 III. DIANA SCHEMES

 IV. TERMS OF SURRENDER

 V. THE ENCOUNTER

 VI. THE CHAMPION

 VII. THE NUPTIALS of RUTH WESTMACOTT

 VIII. BRIDE AND GROOM

 IX. MR. TRENCHARD'S COUNTERSTROKE

 X. THEIR OWN PETARD

 XI. THE MARPLOT

 XII. AT THE FORD

 XIII "PRO RELIGIONE ET LIBERTATE"

 XIV. HIS GRACE IN COUNSEL

 XV. LYME OF THE KING

 XVI. PLOTS AND PLOTTERS

 XVII. MR. WILDING'S RETURN

 XVIII. BETRAYAL

 XIX. THE BANQUET

 XX. THE RECKONING

 XXI. THE SENTENCE

 XXII. THE EXECUTION

 XXIII. MR. WILDING'S BOOTS

 XXIV. JUSTICE

CHAPTER I. POT-VALIANCE

Then drink it thus, cried the rash young fool, and splashed the contentsof his cup full into the face of Mr. Wilding even as that gentleman, onhis feet, was proposing to drink to the eyes of the young fool's sister. 

The moments that followed were full of interest. A stillness, abrooding, expectant stillness, fell upon the company--and it numbereda round dozen--about Lord Gervase's richly appointed board. In the softcandlelight the oval table shone like a deep brown pool, in which werereflected the gleaming silver and sparkling crystal that seemed to floatupon it. 

Blake sucked in his nether-lip, his florid face a thought less floridthan its wont, his prominent blue eyes a thought more prominent. Underits golden periwig old Nick Trenchard's wizened countenance was darkenedby a scowl, and his fingers, long, swarthy, and gnarled, drummedfretfully upon the table. Portly Lord Gervase Scoresby--their host, abenign and placid man of peace, detesting turbulence--turned crimson nowin wordless rage. The others gaped and stared--some at young Westmacott, some at the man he had so grossly affronted--whilst in the shadows ofthe hall a couple of lacqueys looked on amazed, all teeth and eyes. 

Mr. Wilding stood, very still and outwardly impassive, the wine tricklingfrom his long face, which, if pale, was no paler than its habit, a vestige of the smile with which he had proposed the toast stilllingering on his thin lips, though departed from his eyes. An elegantgentleman was Mr. Wilding, tall, and seeming even taller by virtue ofhis exceeding slenderness. He had the courage to wear his own hair, which was of a dark brown and very luxuriant; dark brown too were hissombre eyes, low-lidded and set at a downward slant. From those odd eyesof his, his countenance gathered an air of superciliousness tempered bya gentle melancholy. For the rest, it was scored by lines that stampedit with the appearance of an age in excess of his thirty years. 

Thirty guineas' worth of Mechlin at his throat was drenched, empurpledand ruined beyond redemption, and on the breast of his blue satin coat adark patch was spreading like a stain of blood. 

Richard Westmacott, short, sturdy, and fair-complexioned to the pointof insipidity, watched him sullenly out of pale eyes, and waited. Itwas Lord Gervase who broke at last the silence--broke it with an oath, athing unusual in one whose nature was almost woman-mild. 

"As God's my life!" he spluttered wrathfully, glowering at Richard. "Tohave this happen in my house! The young fool shall make apology!"

"With his dying breath, " sneered Trenchard, and the old rake's words, his tone, and the malevolent look he bent upon the boy increased thecompany's malaise. 

"I think, " said Mr. Wilding, with a most singular and excessivesweetness, "that what Mr. Westmacott has done he has done because heapprehended me amiss. "

"No doubt he'll say so, " opined Trenchard with a shrug, and had cautiondug into his ribs by Blake's elbow, whilst Richard made haste to provehim wrong by saying the contrary. 

"I apprehended you exactly, sir, " he answered, defiance in his voice andwine-flushed face. 

"Ha!" clucked Trenchard, irrepressible. "He's bent on self-destruction. Let him have his way, in God's name. "

But Wilding seemed intent upon showing how long-suffering he couldbe. He gently shook his head. "Nay, now, " said he. "You thought, Mr. Westmacott, that in mentioning your sister, I did so lightly. Is itnot so?"

"You mentioned her, and that is all that matters, " cried Westmacott. "I'll not have her name on your lips at any time or in any place--no, nor in any manner. " His speech was thick from too much wine. 

"You are drunk, " cried indignant Lord Gervase with finality. 

"Pot-valiant, " Trenchard elaborated. 

Mr. Wilding set down at last the glass which he had continued tohold until that moment. He rested his hands upon the table, knucklesdownward, and leaning forward he spoke impressively, his face verygrave; and those present--knowing him as they did--were one and all lostin wonder at his unusual patience. 

"Mr. Westmacott, " said he, "I do think you are wrong to persist inaffronting me. You have done a thing that is beyond forgiveness, andyet, when I offer you this opportunity of honourably retrieving... " Heshrugged his shoulders, leaving the sentence incomplete. 

The company might have spared its deep surprise at so much mildness. There was but the semblance of it. Wilding proceeded thus of purposeset, and under the calm mask of his long white face his mind workedwickedly and deliberately. The temerity of Westmacott, whose nature wasnotoriously timid, had surprised him for a moment. But anon, reading theboy's mind as readily as though it had been a scroll unfolded for hisinstruction, he saw that Westmacott, on the strength of his positionas his sister's brother, conceived himself immune. Mr. Wilding's avowedcourtship of the lady, the hopes he still entertained of winning her, despite the aversion she was at pains to show him, gave Westmacottassurance that Mr. Wilding would never elect to shatter his all tooslender chances by embroiling himself in a quarrel with her brother. And--reading him, thus, aright--Mr. Wilding put on that mask ofpatience, luring the boy into greater conviction of the security ofhis position. And Richard, conceiving himself safe in his entrenchmentbehind the bulwarks of his brothership to Ruth Westmacott, and heartenedfurther by the excess of wine he had consumed, persisted in insults hewould never otherwise have dared to offer. 

"Who seeks to retrieve?" he crowed offensively, boldly looking up intothe other's face. "It seems you are yourself reluctant. " And he laugheda trifle stridently, and looked about him for applause, but found none. 

"You are overrash, " Lord Gervase disapproved him harshly. 

"Not the first coward I've seen grow valiant at a table, " put inTrenchard by way of explanation, and might have come to words with Blakeon that same score, but that in that moment Wilding spoke again. 

"Reluctant to do what?" he questioned amiably, looking Westmacottso straightly between the eyes that the boy shifted uneasily on hishigh-backed chair. 

Nevertheless, still full of confidence in the unassailability of hisposition, the mad youth answered, "To cleanse yourself of what I threwat you. "

"Fan me, ye winds!" gasped Nick Trenchard, and looked with expectancy athis friend Wilding. 

Now there was one factor with which, in basing with such cravenshrewdness his calculations upon Mr. Wilding's feelings for his sister, young Richard had not reckoned. He was not to know that Wilding, bruised and wounded by Miss Westmacott's scorn of him, had reached thatborderland where love and hate are so merged that they are scarce to bedistinguished. Embittered by the slights she had put upon him--slightswhich his sensitive, lover's fancy had magnified a hundredfold--AnthonyWilding's frame of mind was grown peculiar. Of his love she would havenone; his kindness she seemingly despised. So be it; she should tastehis cruelty. If she scorned his wooing and forbade him to pursue it, atleast it was not hers to deny him the power to hurt; and in hurtingher that would not be loved by him some measure of fierce and bitterconsolation seemed to await him. 

He realized, perhaps, not quite all this--and to the unworthiness of itall he gave no thought. But he realized enough as he toyed, as cat withmouse, with Richard Westmacott, to know that in striking at her throughthe worthless person of this brother whom she cherished--and whopersisted in affording him this opportunity--a wicked vengeance would behis. 

Peace-loving Lord Gervase had heaved himself suddenly to his feet atWestmacott's last words, still intent upon saving the situation. 

"In Heaven's name... " he began, when Mr. Wilding, ever calm and smiling, though now a trifle sinister, waved him gently into silence. But thatpersisting calm of Mr. Wilding's was too much for old Nick Trenchard. Herose abruptly, drawing all eyes upon himself. It was time, he thought, he took a hand in this. 

In addition to his affection for Wilding and his contempt forWestmacott, he was filled with a fear that the latter might becomedangerous if not crushed at once. Gifted with a shrewd knowledge ofmen, acquired during a chequered life of much sour experience, oldNick instinctively mistrusted Richard. He had known him for a fool, a weakling, a babbler, and a bibber of wine. Out of such elements avillain is soon compounded, and Trenchard had cause to fear the formof villainy that lay ready to Richard's hand. For it chanced that Mr. Trenchard was second cousin to that famous John Trenchard, so latelytried for treason and acquitted to the great joy of the sectaries of theWest, and still more lately--but yesterday, in fact--fled the country toescape the rearrest ordered in consequence of that excessive joy. Likehis more famous cousin, Nick Trenchard was one of the Duke of Monmouth'smost active agents; and Westmacott, like Wilding, Vallancey, and oneor two others at that board, stood, too, committed to the cause of theProtestant Champion. 

Out of his knowledge of the boy Trenchard was led to fear that if hewere leniently dealt with now, tomorrow, when, sober, he came to realizethe grossness of the thing he had done and the unlikelihood of its beingforgiven him, there was no saying but that to protect himself he mightbetray Wilding's share in the plot that was being hatched. That initself would be bad enough; but there might be worse, for he couldscarcely betray Wilding without betraying others and--what matteredmost--the Cause itself. He must be dealt with out of hand, Trenchardopined, and dealt with ruthlessly. 

"I think, Anthony, " said he, "that we have had words enough. Shall yoube disposing of Mr. Westmacott to-morrow, or must I be doing it foryou?"

With a gasp of dismay young Richard twisted in his chair to confrontthis fresh and unsuspected antagonist. What danger was this that he hadoverlooked? Then, even as he turned, Wilding's voice fell on his ear, and each word of the few he spoke was like a drop of icy water onWestmacott's overheated brain. 

"I protest you are vastly kind, Nick. But I intend, myself, to have thepleasure of killing Mr. Westmacott. " And his smile fell now in mockeryupon the disillusioned lad. 

Crushed by that bolt from the blue, Richard sat as if stunned, the flushreceding from his face until his very lips were livid. The shock hadsobered him, and, sobered, he realized in terror what he had done. Andyet even sober he was amazed to find that the staff upon which with suchsecurity he had leaned should have proved rotten. True he had put muchstrain upon it; but then he had counted that it would stand much strain. 

He would have spoken, but he lacked words, so stricken was he. And evenhad he done so it is odds none would have heard him, for the late calmwas of a sudden turned to garboil. Every man of that company--withthe sole exception of Richard himself--was on his feet, and all werespeaking at once, in clamouring, excited chorus. 

Wilding alone--the butt of their expostulations--stood quietly smiling, and wiped his face at last with a kerchief of finest lawn. Dominatingthe others in the Babel rose the voice of Sir Rowland Blake--impecuniousBlake; Blake lately of the Guards, who had sold his commission as theonly thing remaining him upon which he could raise money; Blake, thatother suitor for Miss Westmacott's hand, the suitor favoured by herbrother. 

"You shall not do it, Mr. Wilding, " he shouted, his face crimson. "No, by God! You were shamed forever. He is but a lad, and drunk. "

Trenchard eyed the short, powerfully built man beside him, and laughedunpleasantly. "You should get yourself bled one of these days, SirRowland, " he advised. "There may be no great danger yet; but a man can'tbe too careful when he wears a narrow neckcloth. "

Blake--a short, powerfully built man--took no heed of him, but lookedstraight at Mr. Wilding, who, smiling ever, calmly returned the gaze ofthose prominent blue eyes. 

"You will suffer me, Sir Rowland, " said he sweetly, "to be the judge ofwhom I will and whom I will not meet. "

Sir Rowland flushed under that mocking glance and caustic tone. "But heis drunk, " he repeated feebly. 

"I think, " said Trenchard, "that he is hearing something that will makehim sober. "

Lord Gervase took the lad by the shoulder, and shook him impatiently. "Well?" quoth he. "Have you nothing to say? You did a deal of pratingjust now. I make no doubt but that even at this late hour if you were tomake apology... "

"It would be idle, " came Wilding's icy voice to quench the gleam of hopekindling anew in Richard's breast. The lad saw that he was lost, and heis a poor thing, indeed, who cannot face the worst once that worst isshown to be irrevocable. He rose with some semblance of dignity. 

"It is as I would wish, " said he, but his livid face and staring eyesbelied the valour of his words. He cleared his huskiness from histhroat. "Sir Rowland, " said he, "will you act for me?"

"Not I!" cried Blake with an oath. "I'll be no party to the butchery ofa boy unfledged. "

"Unfledged?" echoed Trenchard. "Body o' me! 'Tis a matter Wilding willamend to-morrow. He'll fledge him, never fear. He'll wing him on hisflight to heaven. "

Of set purpose did Trenchard add this fuel to the blazing fire. It wasno part of his views that this encounter should be avoided. If RichardWestmacott were allowed to live after what had passed, there were toomany tall fellows might go in peril of their lives. 

Richard, meanwhile, had turned to the man on his left--young Vallancey, a notorious partisan of the Duke of Monmouth's, a hair-brained gentlemanwho was his own worst enemy. 

"May I count on you, Ned?" he asked. 

"Aye--to the death, " said Vallancey magniloquently. 

"Mr. Vallancey, " said Trenchard with a wry twist of his sharp features, "you grow prophetic. "

CHAPTER II. SIR ROWLAND TO THE RESCUE

From Scoresby Hall, near Weston Zoyland, young Westmacott rode home thatSaturday night to his sister's house in Bridgwater, a sobered man and ananguished. He had committed a folly which was like to cost him his lifeto-morrow. Other follies had he committed in his twenty-five years--forhe was not quite the babe that Blake had represented him, although hecertainly looked nothing like his age. But to-night he had contrived toset the crown to all. He had good cause to blame himself and to cursethe miscalculation that had emboldened him to launch himself upona course of insult against this Wilding, whom he hated with all thecurrish and resentful hatred of the worthless for the man of parts. 

But there was more than hate in the affront that he had offered;there was calculation--to an even greater extent than we have seen. Ithappened that through his own fault young Richard was all but penniless. The pious, nonconformist soul of Sir Geoffrey Lupton--the wealthy unclefrom whom he had had great expectations--had been so stirred to anger byRichard's vicious and besotted ways that he had left every guinea thatwas his, every perch of land, and every brick of edifice to Richard'shalf-sister Ruth. At present things were not so bad for the worthlessboy. Ruth worshipped him. He was a sacred charge to her from their deadfather, who, knowing the stoutness of her soul and the feebleness ofRichard's, had in dying imposed on her the care and guidance of hergraceless brother. But Ruth, in all things strong, was weak with Richardout of her very fondness for him. To what she had he might help himself, and thus it was that things were not so bad with him at present. Butwhen Richard's calculating mind came to give thought to the future hefound that this occasioned him some care. Rich ladies, even when theydo not happen to be equipped in addition with Ruth's winsome beauty andendearing nature, are not wont to go unmarried. It would have pleasedRichard best to have had her remain a spinster. But he well knew thatthis was a matter in which she might have a voice of her own, and itbehoved him betimes to take wise measures where possible husbands wereconcerned. 

The first that came in a suitor's obvious panoply was Anthony Wilding, of Zoyland Chase, and Richard watched his advent with foreboding. Wilding's was a personality to dazzle any woman, despite--perhaps evenbecause of--the reputation for wildness that clung to him. That he wasknown as Wild Wilding to the countryside is true; but it were unfair--asRichard knew--to attach to this too much importance; for the adoptionof so obvious an alliteration the rude country minds needed but a slightencouragement. 

 From the first it looked as if Ruth might favour him, and Richard'sfears assumed more definite shape. If Wilding married her--and he wasa bold, masterful fellow who usually accomplished what he aimed at--herfortune and estate must cease to be a pleasant pasture land for bovineRichard. The boy thought at first of making terms with Wilding; the ideawas old; it had come to him when first he had counted the chances of hissister's marrying. But he found himself hesitating to lay his proposalbefore Mr. Wilding. And whilst he hesitated Mr. Wilding made obviousheadway. Still Richard dared not do it. There was a something inWilding's eye that cried him danger. Thus, in the end, since hecould not attempt a compromise with this fine fellow, the only courseremaining was that of direct antagonism--that is to say, direct asRichard understood directness. Slander was the weapon he used in thatsecret duel; the countryside was well stocked with stories of Mr. Wilding's many indiscretions. I do not wish to suggest that these wereunfounded. Still, the countryside, cajoled by its primitive sense ofhumour into that alliteration I have mentioned, found that having giventhis dog its bad name, it was under the obligation of keeping up hisreputation. So it exaggerated. Richard, exaggerating those exaggerationsin his turn, had some details, as interesting and unsavoury as they werein the main untrue, to lay before his sister. 

Now established love, it is well known, thrives wondrously on slander. The robust growth of a maid's feelings for her accepted suitor is butfurther strengthened by malign representations of his character. Sheseizes with joy the chance of affording proof of her great loyalty, anddefies the world and its evil to convince her that the man to whom shehas given her trust is not most worthy of it. Not so, however, with thefirst timid bud of incipient interest. Slander nips it like a frost; indeadliness it is second only to ridicule. 

Ruth Westmacott lent an ear to her brother's stories, incredulous onlyuntil she remembered vague hints she had caught from this person andfrom that, whose meaning was now made clear by what Richard told her, which, incidentally, they served to corroborate. Corroboration, too, didthe tale of infamy receive from the friendship that prevailed betweenMr. Wilding and Nick Trenchard, the old ne'er-dowell, who in histime--as everybody knew--had come so low, despite his gentle birth, asto have been one of a company of strolling players. Had Mr. Wildingbeen other than she now learnt he was, he would surely not cherish anattachment for a person so utterly unworthy. Clearly, they were birds ofa plumage. 

And so, her maiden purity outraged at the thought that she had been indanger of lending a willing ear to the wooing of such a man, shehad crushed this love which she blushed to think was on the point ofthrowing out roots to fasten on her soul, and was sedulous thereafter inmanifesting the aversion which she accounted it her duty to foster forMr. Wilding. 

Richard had watched and smiled in secret, taking pride in the cunningway he had wrought this change--that cunning which so often is givento the stupid by way of compensation for the intelligence that has beenwithheld them. 

And now what time discountenanced, Wilding fumed and fretted all invain, Sir Rowland Blake, fresh from London and in full flight from hiscreditors, flashed like a comet into the Bridgwater heavens. He dazzledthe eyes and might have had for the asking the heart and hand of DianaHorton--Ruth's cousin. Her heart, indeed, he had without the asking, forDiana fell straightway in love with him and showed it, just as he showedthat he was not without response to her affection. There were sometender passages between them; but Blake, for all his fine exterior, wasa beggar, and Diana far from rich, and so he rode his feelings witha hard grip upon the reins. And then, in an evil hour for poor Diana, young Westmacott had taken him to Lupton House, and Sir Rowland had hisfirst glimpse of Ruth, his first knowledge of her fortune. He went downbefore Ruth's eyes like a man of heart; he went down more lowly stillbefore her possessions like a man of greed; and poor Diana might consoleherself with whom she could. 

Her brother watched him, appraised him, and thought that in this brokengamester he had a man after his own heart; a man who would be readyenough for such a bargain as Richard had in mind; ready enough tosell what rags might be left him of his honour so that he came by thewherewithal to mend his broken fortunes. 

The twain made terms. They haggled like any pair of traders out ofJewry, but in the end it was settled--by a bond duly engrossed andsealed--that on the day that Sir Rowland married Ruth he should makeover to her brother certain values that amounted to perhaps a quarter ofher possessions. There was no cause to think that Ruth would be greatlyopposed to this--not that that consideration would have weighed withRichard. 

But now that all essentials were so satisfactorily determined a vexationwas offered Westmacott by the circumstance that his sister seemed nowisetaken with Sir Rowland. She suffered him because he was her brother'sfriend; on that account she even honoured him with some measure of herown friendship; but to no greater intimacy did her manner promise toadmit him. And meanwhile, Mr. Wilding persisted in the face of allrebuffs. Under his smiling mask he hid the smart of the wounds she dealthim, until it almost seemed to him that from loving her he had come tohate her. 

It had been well for Richard had he left things as they were and waited. Whether Blake prospered or not, leastways it was clear that Wildingwould not prosper, and that, for the season, was all that need havemattered to young Richard. 

But in his cups that night he had thought in some dim way to precipitatematters by affronting Mr. Wilding, secure, as I have shown, in hisbelief that Wilding would perish sooner than raise a finger againstRuth's brother. And his drunken astuteness, it seemed, had been tohis mind as a piece of bottle glass to the sight, distorting the imageviewed through it. 

With some such bitter reflection rode he home to his sleepless couch. Some part of those dark hours he spent in bitter reviling of Wilding, ofhimself, and even of his sister, whom he blamed for this awful situationinto which he had tumbled; at other times he wept from self-pity andsheer fright. 

Once, indeed, he imagined that he saw light, that he saw a way outof the peril that hemmed him in. His mind turned for a moment in thedirection that Trenchard had feared it might. He bethought him of hisassociation with the Monmouth Cause--into which he had been beguiled bythe sordid hope of gain--and of Wilding's important share in that samebusiness. He was even moved to rise and ride that very night for Exeterto betray to Albemarle the Cause itself, so that he might have Wildinglaid by the heels. But if Trenchard had been right in having littlefaith in Richard's loyalty, he had, it seems, in fearing treacherymade the mistake of giving Richard credit for more courage than was hisendowment. For when, sitting up in bed, fired by his inspiration, youngWestmacott came to consider the questions the Lord-Lieutenant of Devonwould be likely to ask him, he reflected that the answers he must returnwould so incriminate himself that he would be risking his own neck inthe betrayal. He flung himself down again with a curse and a groan, andthought no more of the salvation that might lie for him that way. 

The morning of that last day of May found him pale and limp and alla-tremble. He rose betimes and dressed, but stirred not from his chambertill in the garden under his window he heard his sister's voice, andthat of Diana Horton, joined anon by a man's deeper tones, which herecognized with a start as Blake's. What did the baronet here soearly? Assuredly it must concern the impending duel. Richard knew nomawkishness on the score of eavesdropping. He stole to his window andlent an ear, but the voices were receding, and to his vexation he caughtnothing of what was said. He wondered how soon Vallancey would come, andfor what hour the encounter had been appointed. Vallancey had remainedbehind at Scoresby Hall last night to make the necessary arrangementswith Trenchard, who was to act for Mr. Wilding. 

Now it chanced that Trenchard and Wilding had business--business ofMonmouth's--to transact in Taunton that morning; business which mightnot be delayed. There were odd rumours afloat in the West; persistentrumours which had come fast upon the heels of the news of Argyle'slanding in Scotland; rumours which maintained that Monmouth himself wascoming over from Holland. These tales Wilding and his associates hadignored. The Duke, they knew, was to spend the summer in retreat inSweden, with (it was alleged) the Lady Henrietta Wentworth to bear himcompany, and in the mean time his trusted agents were to pave the wayfor his coming in the following spring. Of late the lack of direct newsfrom the Duke had been a source of mystification to his friends in theWest, and now, suddenly, the information went abroad--it was somethingmore than rumour this time--that a letter of the greatest importancehad been intercepted. From whom that letter proceeded or to whom it wasaddressed, could not yet be discovered. But it seemed clear that itwas connected with the Monmouth Cause, and it behoved Mr. Wilding todiscover what he could. With this intent he rode with Trenchard thatSunday morning to Taunton, hoping that at the Red Lion Inn--thatmeeting-place of dissenters--he might cull reliable information. 

It was in consequence of this that the meeting with Richard Westmacottwas not to take place until the evening, and therefore Vallancey camenot to Lupton House as early as Richard thought he should expect him. Blake, however--more no doubt out of a selfish fear of losing a valuedally in the winning of Ruth's hand than out of any excessive concern forRichard himself--had risen early and hastened to Lupton House, in thehope, which he recognized as all but forlorn, of yet being able to avertthe disaster he foresaw for Richard. 

Peering over the orchard wall as he rode by, he caught a glimpse, through an opening between the trees, of Ruth herself and Diana on thelawn beyond. There was a wicket gate that stood unlatched, and availinghimself of this Sir Rowland tethered his horse in the lane and threadinghis way briskly through the orchard came suddenly upon the girls. Their laughter reached him as he advanced, and told him they could knownothing yet of Richard's danger. 

On his abrupt and unexpected apparition, Diana paled and Ruth flushedslightly, whereupon Sir Rowland might have bethought him, had he beenbook-learned, of the axiom, "Amour qui rougit, fleurette; amour quiplit, drame du coeur. "

He doffed his hat and bowed, his fair ringlets tumbling forward tillthey hid his face, which was exceeding grave. 

Ruth gave him good morning pleasantly. "You London folk are earlierrisers than we are led to think, " she added. 

"'Twill be the change of air makes Sir Rowland matutinal, " said Diana, making a gallant recovery from her agitation. 

"I vow, " said he, "that I had grown matutinal earlier had I known whathere awaited me. "

"Awaited you?" quoth Diana, and tossed her head archly disdainful. "La!Sir Rowland, your modesty will be the death of you. " Archness becamethis lady of the sunny hair, tip-tilted nose, and complexion thatoutvied the apple-blossoms. She was shorter by a half-head than herdarker cousin, and made up in sprightliness what she lacked of Ruth'sgentle dignity. The pair were foils, each setting off the graces of theother. 

"I protest I am foolish, " answered Blake, a shade discomfited. "But Iwant not for excuse. I have it in the matter that brings me here. "So solemn was his air, so sober his voice, that both girls felt apremonition of the untoward message that he bore. It was Ruth who askedhim to explain himself. 

"Will you walk, ladies?" said Blake, and waved the hand that still heldhis hat riverwards, adown the sloping lawn. They moved away together, Sir Rowland pacing between his love of yesterday and his love of to-day, pressed with questions from both. He shaded his eyes to look at theriver, dazzling in the morning sunlight that came over Polden Hill, and, standing thus, he unburdened himself at last. 

"My news concerns Richard and--Mr. Wilding. " They looked at him. Miss Westmacott's fine level brows were knit. He paused to ask, as ifsuddenly observing his absence, "Is Richard not yet risen?"

"Not yet, " said Ruth, and waited for him to proceed. 

"It does credit to his courage that he should sleep late on such a day, "said Blake, and was pleased with the adroitness wherewith he broke thenews. "He quarrelled last night with Anthony Wilding. "

Ruth's hand went to her bosom; fear stared at Blake from out her eyes, blue as the heavens overhead; a grey shade overcast the usual warmpallor of her face. 

"With Mr. Wilding?" she cried. "That man!" And though she said no moreher eyes implored him to go on, and tell her what more there might be. He did so, and he spared not Wilding. The task, indeed, was one to whichhe applied himself with a certain zest; whatever might be the outcomeof the affair, there was no denying that he was by way of reaping profitfrom it by the final overthrow of an acknowledged rival. And when hetold her how Richard had flung his wine in Wilding's face when Wildingstood to toast her, a faint flush crept to her cheeks. 

"Richard did well, " said she. "I am proud of him. "

The words pleased Sir Rowland vastly; but he reckoned without Diana. Miss Horton's mind was illumined by her knowledge of herself. In thelight of that she saw precisely what capital this tale-bearer sought tomake. The occasion might not be without its opportunities for her; andto begin with, it was no part of her intention that Wilding should bethus maligned and finally driven from the lists of rivalry with Blake. Upon Wilding, indeed, and his notorious masterfulness did she found whathopes she still entertained of winning back Sir Rowland. 

"Surely, " said she, "you are a little hard on Mr. Wilding. You speak asif he were the first gallant that ever toasted lady's eyes. "

"I am no lady of his, Diana, " Ruth reminded her, with a faint show ofheat. 

Diana shrugged her shoulders. "You may not love him, but you can'tordain that he shall not love you. You are very harsh, I think. To me itrather seems that Richard acted like a boor. "

"But, mistress, " cried Sir Rowland, half out of countenance, andstifling his vexation, "in these matters it all depends upon themanner. "

"Why, yes, " she agreed; "and whatever Mr. Wilding's manner, if I knowhim at all, it would be nothing but respectful to the last degree. "

"My own conception of respect, " said he, "is not to bandy a lady's nameabout a company of revellers. "

"Bethink you, though, you said just now, it all depended on the manner, "she rejoined. Sir Rowland shrugged and turned half from her to herlistening cousin. When all is said, poor Diana appears--despite hercunning--to have been short-sighted. Aiming at a defined advantagein the game she played, she either ignored or held too lightly theconcomitant disadvantage of vexing Blake. 

"It were perhaps best to tell us the exact words he used, Sir Rowland, "she suggested, "that for ourselves we may judge how far he lackedrespect. "

"What signify the words!" cried Blake, now almost out of temper. "I don't recall them. It is the air with which he pledged MistressWestmacott. "

"Ah yes--the manner, " quoth Diana irritatingly. "We'll let that be. Richard threw his wine in Mr. Wilding's face? What followed then? Whatsaid Mr. Wilding?"

Sir Rowland remembered what Mr. Wilding had said, and bethought himthat it were impolitic in him to repeat it. At the same time, not havinglooked for this cross-questioning, he was all unprepared with any likelyanswer. He hesitated, until Ruth echoed Diana's question. 

"Tell us, Sir Rowland, " she begged him, "what Mr. Wilding said. "

Being forced to say something, and being by nature slow-witted andsluggish of invention, Sir Rowland was compelled, to his unspeakablechagrin, to fall back upon the truth. 

"Is not that proof?" cried Diana in triumph. "Mr. Wilding was reluctantto quarrel with Richard. He was even ready to swallow such an affrontas that, thinking it might be offered him under a misconception of hismeaning. He plainly professed the respect that filled him for MistressWestmacott, and yet, and yet, Sir Rowland, you tell us that he lackedrespect!"

"Madam, " cried Blake, turning crimson, "that matters nothing. It was notthe place or time to introduce your cousin s name. 

"You think, Sir Rowland, " put in Ruth, her air grave, judicial almost, "that Richard behaved well?"

"As I would like to behave myself, as I would have a son of mine behaveon the like occasion, " Blake protested. "But we waste words, " he cried. "I did not come to defend Richard, nor just to bear you this untowardnews. I came to consult with you, in the hope that we might find someway to avert this peril from your brother. "

"What way is possible?" asked Ruth, and sighed. "I would not... I wouldnot have Richard a coward. "

"Would you prefer him dead?" asked Blake, sadly grave. 

"Sooner than craven--yes, " Ruth answered him, very white. 

"There is no question of that, " was Blake's rejoinder. "The questionis that Wilding said last night that he would kill the boy, and whatWilding says he does. Out of the affection that I bear Richard is bornmy anxiety to save him despite himself. It is in this that I come toseek your aid or offer mine. Allied we might accomplish what singlyneither of us could. "

He had at once the reward of his cunning speech. Ruth held out herhands. "You are a good friend, Sir Rowland, " she said, with a palesmile; and pale too was the smile with which Diana watched them. No morethan Ruth did she suspect the sincerity of Blake's protestations. 

"I am proud you should account me that, " said the baronet, taking Ruth'shands and holding them a moment; "and I would that I could prove myselfyour friend in this to some good purpose. Believe me, if Wilding wouldconsent that I might take your brother's place, I would gladly do so. "

It was a safe boast, knowing as he did that Wilding would consent tono such thing; but it earned him a glance of greater kindliness fromRuth--who began to think that hitherto perhaps she had done him someinjustice--and a look of greater admiration from Diana, who saw in himher beau-ideal of the gallant lover. 

"I would not have you endanger yourself so, " said Ruth. 

"It might, " said Blake, his blue eyes very fierce, "be no great danger, after all. " And then dismissing that part of the subject as if, likea brave man, the notion of being thought boastful were unpleasant, hepassed on to the discussion of ways and means by which the coming duelmight be averted. But when they came to grips with facts, it seemed thatSir Rowland had as little idea of what might be done as had the ladies. True, he began by making the obvious suggestion that Richard shouldtender Wilding a full apology. That, indeed, was the only door ofescape, and Blake shrewdly suspected that what the boy had beenunwilling to do last night--partly through wine, and partly throughthe fear of looking fearful in the eyes of Lord Gervase Scoresby'sguests--he might be willing enough to do to-day, sober and uponreflection. For the rest Blake was as far from suspecting Mr. Wilding'speculiar frame of mind as had Richard been last night. This his wordsshowed. 

"I am satisfied, " said he, "that if Richard were to go to-day to Wildingand express his regret for a thing done in the heat of wine, Wildingwould be forced to accept it as satisfaction, and none would think thatit did other than reflect credit upon Richard. "

"Are you very sure of that?" asked Ruth, her tone dubious, her glancehopefully anxious. 

"What else is to be thought?"

"But, " put in Diana shrewdly, "it were an admission of Richard's that hehad done wrong. "

"No less, " he agreed, and Ruth caught her breath in fresh dismay. 

"And yet you have said that he did as you would have a son of yours do, "Diana reminded him. 

"And I maintain it, " answered Blake; his wits worked slowly ever. It wasfor Ruth to reveal the flaw to him. 

"Do you not understand, then, " she asked him sadly, "that such anadmission on Richard's part would amount to a lie--a lie uttered to savehimself from an encounter, the worst form of lie, a lie of cowardice?Surely, Sir Rowland, your kindly anxiety for his life outruns youranxiety for his honour. "

Diana, having accomplished her task, hung her head in silence, pondering. 

Sir Rowland was routed utterly. He glanced from one to the other of hiscompanions, and grew afraid that he--the town gallant--might come tolook foolish in the eyes of these country ladies. He protested againhis love for Richard, and increased Ruth's terror by his mention ofWilding's swordsmanship; but when all was said, he saw that he had bestretreat ere he spoiled the good effect which he hoped his solicitude hadcreated. And so he spoke of seeking counsel with Lord Gervase Scoresby, and took his leave, promising to return by noon. 

CHAPTER III. DIANA SCHEMES

Notwithstanding the brave face Ruth Westmacott had kept during hispresence, when he departed Sir Rowland left behind him a distressamounting almost to anguish in her mind. Yet though she might suffer, there was no weakness in Ruth's nature. She knew how to endure. Diana, bearing Richard not a tenth of the affection his sister consecrated tohim, was alarmed for him. Besides, her own interests urged the avertingof this encounter. And so she held in accents almost tearful thatsomething must be done to save him. 

This, too, appeared to be Richard's own view, when presently--within afew minutes of Blake's departure--he came to join them. They watchedhis approach in silence, and both noted--though with different eyes anddifferent feelings--the pallor of his fair face, the dark lines underhis colourless eyes. His condition was abject, and his manners, neverof the best--for there was much of the spoiled child about Richard--wereclearly suffering from it. 

He stood before his sister and his cousin, moving his eyes shiftily fromone to the other, rubbing his hands nervously together. 

"Your precious friend Sir Rowland has been here, " said he, and it wasnot clear from his manner which of them he addressed. "Not a doubt buthe will have brought you the news. " He seemed to sneer. 

Ruth advanced towards him, her face grave, her sweet eyes full ofpitying concern. She placed a hand upon his sleeve. "My poor Richard... "she began, but he shook off her kindly touch, laughing angrily--a merecackle of irritability. 

"Odso!" he interrupted her. "It is a thought late for this mockkindliness!"

Diana, in the background, arched her brows, then with a shrug turnedaside and seated herself on the stone seat by which they had beenstanding. Ruth shrank back as if her brother had struck her. 

"Richard!" she cried, and searched his livid face with her eyes. "Richard!"

He read a question in the interjection, and he answered it. "Had youknown any real care, any true concern for me, you had not given causefor this affair, " he chid her peevishly. 

"What are you saying?" she cried, and it occurred to her at last thatRichard was afraid. He was a coward! She felt as she would faint. 

"I am saying, " said he, hunching his shoulders, and shivering as hespoke, yet, his glance unable to meet hers, "that it is your fault thatI am like to get my throat cut before sunset. "

"My fault?" she murmured. The slope of lawn seemed to wave and swimabout her. "My fault?"

"The fault of your wanton ways, " he accused her harshly. "You have soplayed fast and loose with this fellow Wilding that he makes free ofyour name in my very presence, and puts upon me the need to get myselfkilled by him to save the family honour. "

He would have said more in this strain, but something in her glance gavehim pause. There fell a silence. From the distance came the melodiouspealing of church bells. High overhead a lark was pouring out its song;in the lane at the orchard end rang the beat of trotting hoofs. Itwas Diana who spoke presently. Just indignation stirred her, and, whenstirred, she knew no pity, set no limits to her speech. 

"I think, indeed, " said she, her voice crisp and merciless, "that thefamily honour will best be saved if Mr. Wilding kills you. It is indanger while you live. You are a coward, Richard. "

"Diana!" he thundered--he could be mighty brave with women--whilst Ruthclutched her arm to restrain her. 

But she continued, undeterred: "You are a coward--a pitiful coward, " shetold him. "Consult your mirror. It will tell you what a palsied thingyou are. That you should dare so speak to Ruth... "

"Don't!" Ruth begged her, turning. 

"Aye, " growled Richard, "she had best be silent. "

Diana rose, to battle, her cheeks crimson. "It asks a braver man thanyou to compel my obedience, " she told him. "La!" she fumed, "I'll swearthat had Mr. Wilding overheard what you have said to your sister, youwould have little to fear from his sword. A cane would be the weaponhe'd use on you. "

Richard's pale eyes flamed malevolently; a violent rage possessed himand flooded out his fear, for nothing can so goad a man as an offensivetruth. Ruth approached him again; again she took him by the arm, seekingto soothe his over-troubled spirit; but again he shook her off. And thento save the situation came a servant from the house. So lost in angerwas all Richard's sense of decency that the mere supervention of theman would not have been enough to have silenced him could he have foundadequate words in which to answer Mistress Horton. But even as he rackedhis mind, the footman's voice broke the silence, and the words thefellow uttered did what his presence alone might not have sufficed todo. 

"Mr. Vallancey is asking for you, sir, " he announced. 

Richard started. Vallancey! He had come at last, and his coming wasconnected with the impending duel. The thought was paralyzing to youngWestmacott. The flush of anger faded from his face; its leaden huereturned and he shivered as with cold. At last he mastered himselfsufficiently to ask:

"Where is he, Jasper?"

"In the library, sir, " replied the servant. "Shall I bring him hither?"

"Yes--no, " he answered. "I will come to him. " He turned his back uponthe ladies, paused a moment, still irresolute. Then, as by an effort, he followed the servant across the lawn and vanished through the iviedporch. 

As he went Diana flew to her cousin. Her shallow nature was touched withtransient pity. "My poor Ruth... " she murmured soothingly, and set herarm about the other's waist. There was a gleam of tears in the eyes Ruthturned upon her. Together they came to the granite seat and sank to itside by side, fronting the placid river. There Ruth, her elbows on herknees, cradled her chin in her hands, and with a sigh of misery staredstraight before her. 

"It was untrue!" she said at last. "What Richard said of me was untrue. "

"Why, yes, " Diana snapped, contemptuous. "The only truth is that Richardis afraid. "

Ruth shivered. "Ah, no, " she pleaded--she knew how true was theimpeachment. "Don't say it, Diana. "

"It matters little that I say it, " snorted Diana impatiently. "It is atruth proclaimed by the first glance at him. "

"He is in poor health, perhaps, " said Ruth, seeking miserably to excusehim. 

"Aye, " said Diana. "He's suffering from an ague--the result of a lackof courage. That he should so have spoken to you! Give me patience, Heaven!"

Ruth crimsoned again at the memory of his words; a wave of indignationswept through her gentle soul, but was gone at once, leaving anineffable sadness in its room. What was to be done? She turned to Dianafor counsel. But Diana was still whipping up her scorn. 

"If he goes out to meet Mr. Wilding, he'll shame himself and every manand woman that bears the name of Westmacott, " said she, and struck a newfear with that into the heart of Ruth. 

"He must not go!" she answered passionately. "He must not meet him!"

Diana flashed her a sidelong glance. "And if he doesn't, will things bemended?" she inquired. "Will it save his honour to have Mr. Wilding comeand cane him?"

"He'd not do that?" said Ruth. 

"Not if you asked him--no, " was Diana's sharp retort, and she caught herbreath on the last word of it, for just then the Devil dropped the seedof a suggestion into the fertile soil of her lovesick soul. 

"Diana!" Ruth exclaimed in reproof, turning to confront her cousin. ButDiana's mind started upon its scheming journey was now travelling fast. Out of that devil's seed there sprang with amazing rapidity a tree-likegrowth, throwing out branches, putting forth leaves, bearing already--inher fancy--bloom and fruit. 

"Why not?" quoth she after a breathing space, and her voice was gentle, her tone innocent beyond compare. "Why should you not ask him?" Ruthfrowned, perplexed and thoughtful, and now Diana turned to her withthe lively eye of one into whose mind has leapt a sudden inspiration. "Ruth!" she exclaimed. "Why, indeed, should you not ask him to forgothis duel?"

"How, how could I?" faltered Ruth. 

"He'd not deny you; you know he'd not. "

"I do not know it, " answered Ruth. "But if I did, how could I ask it?"

"Were I Richard's sister, and had I his life and honour at heart as youhave, I'd not ask how. If Richard goes to that encounter he loses both, remember--unless between this and then he undergoes some change. Were Iin your place, I'd straight to Wilding. "

"To him?" mused Ruth, sitting up. "How could I go to him?"

"Go to him, yes, " Diana insisted. "Go to him at once--while there is yettime. "

Ruth rose and moved away a step or two towards the water, deep inthought. Diana watched her furtively and slyly, the rapid rise and fallof her maiden breast betraying the agitation that filled her as shewaited--like a gamester--for the turn of the card that would show herwhether she had won or lost. For she saw clearly how Ruth might be socompromised that there was something more than a chance that Diana wouldno longer have cause to account her cousin a barrier between herself andBlake. 

"I could not go alone, " said Ruth, and her tone was that of one stillbattling with a notion that is repugnant. 

"Why, if that is all, " said Diana, "then I'll go with you. "

"I can't! I can't! Consider the humiliation. "

"Consider Richard rather, " the fair temptress made answer eagerly. "Besure that Mr. Wilding will save you all humiliation. He'll not deny you. At a word from you, I know what answer he will make. He will refuse topush the matter forward--acknowledge himself in the wrong, do whateveryou may ask him. He can do it. None will question his courage. It hasbeen proved too often. " She rose and came to Ruth. She set her armabout her waist again, and poured shrewd persuasion over her cousin sindecision. "To-night you'll thank me for this thought, " she assuredher. "Why do you pause? Are you so selfish as to think more of thelittle humiliation that may await you than of Richard's life andhonour?"

"No, no, " Ruth protested feebly. 

"What, then? Is Richard to go out and slay his honour by a show of fearbefore he is slain, himself, by the man he has insulted?"

"I'll go, " said Ruth. Now that the resolve was taken, she was brisk, impatient. "Come, Diana. Let Jerry saddle for us. We'll ride to ZoylandChase at once. "

They went without a word to Richard who was still closeted withVallancey, and riding forth they crossed the river and took the roadthat, skirting Sedgemoor, runs south to Weston Zoyland. They rode withlittle said until they came to the point where the road branches on theleft, throwing out an arm across the moor towards Chedzoy, a mile or soshort of Zoyland Chase. Here Diana reined in with a sharp gasp of pain. Ruth checked, and cried to know what ailed her. 

"It is the sun, I think, " muttered Diana, her hand to her brow. "I amsick and giddy. " And she slipped a thought heavily to the ground. In aninstant Ruth had dismounted and was beside her. Diana was pale, whichlent colour to her complaint, for Ruth was not to know that the pallorsprang from her agitation in wondering whether the ruse she attemptedwould succeed or not. 

A short stone's-throw from where they had halted stood a cottage backfrom the road in a little plot of ground, the property of a kindly oldwoman known to both. There Diana expressed the wish to rest awhile, andthither they took their way, Ruth leading both horses and supporting herfaltering cousin. The dame was all solicitude. Diana was led into herparlour, and what could be done was done. Her corsage was loosened, water drawn from the well and brought her to drink and bathe her brow. 

She sat back languidly, her head lolling sideways against one of thewings of the great chair, and languidly assured them she would be bettersoon if she were but allowed to rest awhile. Ruth drew up a stool tosit beside her, for all that her soul fretted at this delay. What ifin consequence she should reach Zoyland Chase too late--to find thatMr. Wilding had gone forth already? But even as she was about to sit, itseemed that the same thought had of a sudden come to Diana. The girlleaned forward, thrusting--as if by an effort--some of her faintnessfrom her. 

"Do not wait for me, Ruth, " she begged. 

"I must, child. "

"You must not;" the other insisted. "Think what it may mean--Richard'slife, perhaps. No, no, Ruth, dear. Go on; go on to Zoyland. I'll followyou in a few minutes. "

"I'll wait for you, " said Ruth with firmness. 

At that Diana rose, and in rising staggered. "Then we'll push on atonce, " she gasped, as if speech itself were an excruciating effort. 

"But you are in no case to stand!" said Ruth. "Sit, Diana, sit. "

"Either you go on alone or I go with you, but go at once you must. Atany moment Mr. Wilding may go forth, and your chance is lost. I'll nothave Richard's blood upon my head. "

Ruth wrung her hands in her dismay, confronted by a parlous choice. Consent to Diana's accompanying her in this condition she could not;ride on alone to Mr. Wilding's house was hardly to be thought of, andyet if she delayed she was endangering Richard's life. By the verystrength of her nature she was caught in the mesh of Diana's scheme. She saw that her hesitation was unworthy. This was no ordinary cause, noordinary occasion. It was a time for heroic measures. She must ride on, nor could she consent to take Diana. 

And so in the end she went, having seen her cousin settled again in thehigh chair, and took with her Diana's feeble assurances that she wouldfollow her in a few moments, as soon as her faintness passed. 

CHAPTER IV. TERMS OF SURRENDER

"MR. WILDING rode at dawn with Mr. Trenchard, madam, " announced oldWalters, the butler at Zoyland Chase. Old and familiar servant though hewas, he kept from his countenance all manifestation of the deep surpriseoccasioned him by the advent of Mistress Westmacott, unescorted. 

"He rode... At dawn?" faltered Ruth, and for a moment she stoodirresolute, afraid and pondering in the shade of the great pillaredporch. Then she took heart again. If he rode at dawn, it was not inquest of Richard that he went, since it had been near eleven o'clockwhen she had left Bridgwater. He must have gone on other business first, and, doubtless, before he went to the encounter he would be returninghome. "Said he at what hour he would return?" she asked. 

"He bade us expect him by noon, madam. "

This gave confirmation to her thoughts. It wanted more than half an hourto noon already. "Then he may return at any moment?" said she. 

"At any moment, madam, " was the grave reply. 

She took her resolve. "I will wait, " she announced, to the man'sincreasing if undisplayed astonishment. "Let my horse be seen to. "

He bowed his obedience, and she followed him--a slender, gracefulfigure in her dove-coloured riding-habit laced with silver--across thestone-flagged vestibule, through the cool gloom of the great hall, intothe spacious library of which he held the door. 

"Mistress Horton is following me, " she informed the butler. "Will youbring her to me when she comes?"

Bowing again in silent acquiescence, the white-haired servant closed thedoor and left her. She stood in the centre of the great room, drawingoff her riding-gloves, perturbed and frightened beyond all reason atfinding herself for the first time under Mr. Wilding's roof. He wasmost handsomely housed. His grandfather, who had travelled in Italy, had built the Chase upon the severe and noble lines which there he hadlearnt to admire, and he had embellished its interior, too, with manytreasures of art which with that intent he had there collected. 

She dropped her whip and gloves on to a table, and sank into a chairto wait, her heart fluttering in her throat. Time passed, and in thesilence of the great house her anxiety was gradually quieted, until atlast through the long window that stood open came faintly wafted to heron the soft breeze of that June morning the sound of a church clock atWeston Zoyland chiming twelve. She rose with a start, bethinking hersuddenly of Diana, and wondering why she had not yet arrived. Was thechild's indisposition graver than she had led Ruth to suppose? Shecrossed to the windows and stood there drumming impatiently upon thepane, her eyes straying idly over the sweep of elm-fringed lawns towardsthe river gleaming silvery here and there between the trees in thedistance. 

Suddenly she caught a sound of hoofs. Was this Diana? She sped to theother window, the one that stood open, and now she heard the crunch ofgravel and the champ of bits and the sound of more than two pairs ofhoofs. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Wilding and Mr. Trenchard. 

She felt the colour flying from her cheeks; again her heart fluttered inher throat, and it was in vain that with her hand she sought to repressthe heaving of her breast. She was afraid; her every instinct bade herslip through the window at which she stood and run from Zoyland Chase. And then she thought of Richard and his danger, and she seemed to gathercourage from the reflection of her purpose in this house. 

Men's voices reached her--a laugh, the harsh cawing of Nick Trenchard. 

"A lady!" she heard him cry. "'Od's heart, Tony! Is this a time fortrafficking with doxies?" She crimsoned an instant at the coarse wordand set her teeth, only to pale again the next. The voices werelowered so that she heard not what was said; one sharp exclamation sherecognized to be in Wilding's voice, but caught not the word he uttered. There followed a pause, and she stirred uneasily, waiting. Thencame swift steps and jangling spurs across the hall, the door openedsuddenly, and Mr. Wilding, in a scarlet riding-coat, his boots whitewith dust, stood bowing to her from the threshold. 

"Your servant, Mistress Westmacott, " she heard him murmur. "My house isdeeply honoured. "

She dropped him a half-curtsy, pale and tongue-tied. He turned todeliver hat and whip and gloves to Walters, who had followed him, thenclosed the door and came forward into the room. 

"You will forgive that I present myself thus before you, " he said, in apology for his dusty raiment. "But I bethought me you might be inhaste, and Walters tells me that already have you waited nigh upon anhour. Will you not sit, madam?" And he advanced a chair. His long whiteface was set like a mask; but his dark, slanting eyes devoured her. Heguessed the reason of her visit. She who had humbled him, who had drivenhim to the very borders of despair, was now to be humbled and to despairbefore him. Under the impassive face his soul exulted fiercely. 

She disregarded the chair he proffered. "My visit... Has no doubtsurprised you, " she began, tremulous and hesitating. 

"I' faith, no, " he answered quietly. "The cause, after all, is not veryfar to seek. You are come on Richard's behalf. "

"Not on Richard's, " she answered. "On my own. " And now that the ice wasbroken, the suspense of waiting over, she found the tide of her courageflowing fast. "This encounter must not take place, Mr. Wilding, " sheinformed him. 

He raised his eyebrows--fine and level as her own--his thin lips smilednever so faintly. "It is, I think, " said he, "for Richard to prevent itThe chance was his last night. It shall be his again when we meet. If hewill express regret... " He left his sentence there. In truth he mockedher, though she guessed it not. 

"You mean, " said she, "that if he makes apology... ?"

"What else? What other way remains?"

She shook her head, and, if pale, her face was resolute, her glancesteady. 

"That is impossible, " she told him. "Last night--as I have the story--hemight have done it without shame. To-day it is too late. To tender hisapology on the ground would be to proclaim himself a coward. "

Mr. Wilding pursed his lips and shifted his position. "It is difficult, perhaps, " said he, "but not impossible. "

"It is impossible, " she insisted firmly. 

"I'll not quarrel with you for a word, " he answered, mighty agreeable. "Call it impossible, if you will. Admit, however, that it is all Ican suggest. You will do me the justice, I am sure, to see that inexpressing my willingness to accept your brother's expressions of regretI am proving myself once more your very obedient servant. But that it isyou who ask it--and whose desires are my commands--I should let no mango unpunished for an insult such as your brother put upon me. "

She winced at his words, at the bow with which he had professed himselfonce more her servant. 

"It is no clemency that you offer him, " she said. "You leave him achoice between death and dishonour. "

"He has, " Wilding reminded her, "the chance of combat. "

She flung back her head impatiently. "I think you mock me, " said she. 

He looked at her keenly. "Will you tell me plainly, madam, " he begged, "what you would have me do?"

She flushed under his gaze, and the flush told him what he sought tolearn. There was, of course, another way, and she had thought of it;but she lacked--as well she might, all things considered--the courageto propose it. She had come to Mr. Wilding in the vague hope that hehimself would choose the heroic part. And he, to punish for her scornof him this woman whom he loved to hating-point, was resolved that sheherself must beg it of him. Whether, having so far compelled her, hewould grant her prayer or not was something he could not just thenhimself have told you. She bowed her head in silence, and Wilding, thatfaint smile, half friendliness, half mockery, hovering ever on hislips, turned aside and moved softly towards the window. Her eyes, veiledbehind the long lashes of their drooping lids, followed him furtively. She felt that she hated him in very truth. She marked the uprightelegance of his figure, the easy grace of his movements, the finearistocratic mould of the aquiline face, which she beheld in profile;and she hated him the more for these outward favours that must commendhim to no lack of women. He was too masterful. He made her realize tookeenly her own weakness and that of Richard. She felt that just now hecontrolled the vice that held her fast--her affection for her brother. And because of that she hated him the more. "You see, MistressWestmacott, " said he, his shoulder to her, his tone sweet to the pointof sadness, "that there is nothing else. " She stood, her eyes followingthe pattern of the parquetry, her foot unconsciously tracing it; hercourage ebbed, and she had no answer for him. After a pause he spokeagain, still without turning. "If that was not enough to suit yourends"--and though he spoke in a tone of ever-increasing sadness, thereglinted through it the faintest ray of mockery--"I marvel you shouldhave come to Zoyland--to compromise yourself to so little purpose. "

She raised a startled face. "Com... Compromise myself?" she echoed. "Oh!" It was a cry of indignation. 

"What else?" quoth he, and turned abruptly to confront her. 

"Mistress Horton was.. , was with me, " she panted, her voice quivering ason the brink of tears. 

"'Tis unfortunate you should have separated, " he condoled. 

"But.. , but, Mr. Wilding, I... I trusted to your honour. I accounted youa gentleman. Surely... Surely, sir, you will not let it be known that... I came to you? You will keep my secret?"

"Secret!" said he, his eyebrows raised. "'Tis already the talk of theservants' hall. By to-morrow 'twill be the gossip of Bridgwater. "

Air failed her Her blue eyes fixed him in horror out of her strickenface. Not a word had she wherewith to answer him. 

The sight of her, thus, affected him oddly. His passion for her surgedup, aroused by pity for her plight, and awakened in him a sense of hisbrutality. A faint flush stirred in his cheeks. He stepped quickly toher, and caught her hand. She let it lie, cold and inert, within hisnervous grasp. 

"Ruth, Ruth!" he cried, and his voice was for once unsteady. "Give it nothought! I love you, Ruth. If you'll but heed that, no breath of scandalcan hurt you. "

She swallowed hard. "As how?" she asked mechanically. 

He bowed low over her hand--so low that his face was hidden from her. 

"If you will do me the honour to become my wife... " he began, but got nofurther, for she snatched away her hand, her cheeks crimsoning, her eyesaflame with indignation. He stepped back, crimsoning too. She had dashedthe gentleness from his mood. He was angered now and tigerish. 

"Oh!" she panted. "It is to affront me! Is this the time or place... "

He cropped her flow of indignant speech ere it was well begun. He caughther in his arms, and held her tight, and so sudden was the act, so firmhis grip that she had not the thought or force to struggle. 

"All time is love's time, all places are love's place, " he told her, his face close to her own. "And of all time and places the present everpreferable to the wise--for life is uncertain and short at best. I bringyou worship, and you answer me with scorn. But I shall prevail, and youshall come to love me in very spite of your own self. "

She threw back her head, away from his as far as the bonds he had castabout her would allow. "Air! Air!" she panted feebly. 

"Oh, you shall have air enough anon, " he answered with a half-strangledlaugh, his passion mounting ever. "Hark you, now--hark you, forRichard's sake, since you'll not listen for my own nor yours. There isanother course by which I can save both Richard's life and honour. You know it, and you counted upon my generosity to suggest it. But youoverlooked the thing on which you should have counted. You overlooked mylove. Count upon that, my Ruth, and Richard shall have naught to fear. Count upon that, and when we meet this evening, Richard and I, it isI who will tender the apology, I who will admit that I was wrong tointroduce your name into that company last night, and that what Richarddid was a just and well-deserved punishment upon me. This will I do ifyou'll but count upon my love. "

She looked up at him fearfully, yet with flutterings of hope. "What is'tyou mean?" she asked him faintly. 

"That if you'll promise to be my wife... "

"Your wife!" she interrupted him. She struggled to free herself, released one arm and struck him in the face. "Let me go, you coward!"

He was answered. His arms melted from her. He fell back a pace, verywhite and even trembling, the fire all gone from his eye, which was nowturned dull and deadly. 

"So be it, " he said, and strode to the bell-rope. "I'll not offendagain. I had not offended now"--he continued, in the voice of oneoffering an explanation cold and formal--"but that when first I cameinto your life you seemed to bid me welcome. " His fingers closed uponthe crimson bell-cord. She guessed his purpose. 

"Wait!" she gasped, and put forth her hand. He paused, the rope in his, his eye kindling anew. "You... You mean to kill Richard now?" she askedhim. 

A swift lifting of his brows was his only answer. He tugged the cord. From the distance the peal of the bell reached them faintly. 

"Oh, wait, wait!" she begged, her hands pressed against her cheeks. Hestood impassible--hatefully impassible. "....... If I were to consentto... This... How... How soon... ?" He understood the unfinishedquestion. Interest warmed his face again. He took a step towards her, but by a gesture she seemed to beg him come no nearer. 

"If you will promise to marry me within the week, Richard shall have nocause to fear either for his life or his honour at my hands. "

She seemed now to be recovering her calm. "Very well, " she said, hervoice singularly steady. "Let that be a bargain between us. SpareRichard's life and honour--both, remember!--and on Sunday next... " Forall her courage her voice quavered and faltered. She dared add no more, lest it should break altogether. 

Mr. Wilding drew a deep breath. Again he would have advanced. "Ruth!"he cried, and some repentance smote him, some shame shook him inhis purpose. At that moment it was in his mind to capitulateunconditionally; to tell her that Richard should have naught to fearfrom him, and yet that she should go free as the winds. Her gesturechecked him. It was so eloquent of aversion. He paused in his advance, stifled his better feelings, and turned once more, relentless. The dooropened and old Walters stood awaiting his commands. 

"Mistress Westmacott is leaving, " he informed his servant, and bowedlow and formally in farewell before her. She passed out without anotherword, the old butler following, and presently through the door thatremained open came Trenchard, in quest of Mr. Wilding who stood bemused. 

Nick sauntered in, his left eye almost hidden by the rakish cock of hishat, one hand tucked away under the skirts of his plum-coloured coat, the other supporting the stem of a long clay pipe, at which he waspulling thoughtfully. The pipe and he were all but inseparable; indeed, the year before in London he had given appalling scandal by appearingwith it in the Mall, and had there remained him any character to lose, he must assuredly have lost it then. 

He observed his friend through narrowing eyes--he had small eyes, veryblue and very bright, in which there usually abode a roguish gleam. 

"My sight, Anthony, " said he, "reminds me that I am growing old. Iwonder did it mislead me on the score of your visitor?"

"The lady who left, " said Wilding with a touch of severity, "will beMistress Wilding by this day se'night. "

Trenchard took the pipe from his lips, audibly blew out a cloud of smokeand stared at his friend. "Body o' me!" quoth he. "Is this a time formarrying?--with these rumours of Monmouth's coming over. "

Wilding made an impatient gesture. "I thought to have convinced you theyare idle, " said he, and flung himself into a chair at his writing-table. 

Nick came over and perched himself upon the table's edge, one legswinging in the air. "And what of this matter of the intercepted letterfrom London to our Taunton friends?"

"I can't tell you. But of this I am sure, His Grace is incapable ofanything so rash. Certain is it that he'll not stir until Battiscombreturns to Holland, and Battiscomb is still in Cheshire sounding theDuke's friends. "

"Yet were I you, I should not marry just at present. "

Wilding smiled. "If you were me, you'd never marry at all. "

"Faith, no!" said Trenchard. "I'd as soon play at 'hot-cockles, ' or'Parson-has-lost-his-cloak. ' 'Tis a mort more amusing and the soonerdone with. "

CHAPTER V. THE ENCOUNTER

Ruth Wesmacott rode back like one in a dream, with vague and hazynotions of what she saw or did. So overwrought was she by the interviewfrom which she came, her mind so obsessed by it, that never a thoughthad she for Diana and her indisposition until she arrived home tofind her cousin there before her. Diana was in tears, called up by thereproaches of her mother, Lady Horton--the relict of that fine soldierSir Cholmondeley Horton, of Taunton. 

The girl had arrived at Lupton House a half-hour ahead of MissWestmacott, and upon her arrival she had expressed surprise, eitherfeigned or real, at finding Ruth still absent. Detecting the alarmthat Diana was careful to throw into her voice and manner, her motherquestioned her, and elicited the story of her faintness and of Ruth'shaving ridden on alone to Mr. Wilding's. So outraged was Lady Hortonthat for once in a way this woman, usually so meek and ease-loving, was roused to an energy and anger with her daughter and her niece thatthreatened to remove Diana at once from the pernicious atmosphere ofLupton House and carry her home to Taunton. Ruth found her still at herremonstrances, arrived, indeed, in time for her share of them. 

"I have been sore mistaken in you, Ruth!" the dame reproached her. "Ican scarce believe it of you. I have held you up as an example to Diana, for the discretion and wisdom of your conduct, and you do this! You goalone to Mr. Wilding's house--to Mr. Wilding's, of all men!"

"It was no time for ordinary measures, " said Ruth, but she spoke withoutany of the heat of one who defends her conduct. She was, the slylywatchful Diana observed, very white and tired. "It was no time to thinkof nice conduct. There was Richard to be saved. "

"And was it worth ruining yourself to do that?" quoth Lady Horton, hercolour high. 

"Ruining myself?" echoed Ruth, and she smiled never so weary a smile. "Ihave, indeed, done that, though not in the way you mean. "

Mother and daughter eyed her, mystified. "Your good name is blasted, "said her aunt, "unless so be that Mr. Wilding is proposing to make youhis wife. " It was a sneer the good woman could not, in her indignation, repress. 

"That is what Mr. Wilding has done me the honour to propose, " Ruthanswered bitterly, and left them gaping. "We are to be married this dayse'night. "

A dead silence followed the calm announcement. Then Diana rose. At themisery, the anguish that could impress so strange and white a lookon Ruth's winsome face, she was smitten with remorse, her incipientsatisfaction dashed. This was her work; the fruit of her scheming. Butit had gone further than she had foreseen; and for all that no resultcould better harmonize with her own ambitions and desires, for themoment--under the first shock of that announcement--she felt guilty andgrew afraid. 

"Ruth!" she cried, her voice a whisper of stupefaction. "Oh, I wish Ihad come with you!"

"But you couldn't; you were faint. " And then--recalling what hadpassed--her mind was filled with sudden concern for Diana, even amid herown sore troubles. "Are you quite yourself again, Diana?" she inquired. 

Diana answered almost fiercely, "I am quite well. " And then, with achange to wistfulness, she added, "Oh, I would I had come with you!"

"Matters had been no different, " Ruth assured her. "It was a bargainMr. Wilding drove. It was the price I had to pay for Richard's life andhonour. " She swallowed hard, and let her hands fall limply to her sides. "Where is Richard?" she inquired. 

It was her aunt who answered her. "He went forth half an hour agone withMr. Vallancey and Sir Rowland. "

"Sir Rowland had returned, then?" She looked up quickly. 

"Yes, " answered Diana. "But he had achieved nothing by his visit to LordGervase. His lordship would not intervene; he swore he hoped the cubwould be flayed alive by Wilding. Those were his lordship's words, asSir Rowland repeated them. Sir Rowland is in sore distress for Richard. He has gone with them to the meeting. "

"At least, he has no longer cause for his distress, " said MissWestmacott with her bitter smile, and sank as one exhausted to a chair. Lady Horton moved to comfort her, her motherliness all aroused for thismotherless girl, usually so wise and strong, and seemingly wiser andstronger than ever in this thing that Lady Horton had deemed a weaknessand a folly. 

Meanwhile, Richard and his two friends were on their way to the moorsacross the river to the encounter with Mr. Wilding. But before theyhad got him to ride forth, Vallancey had had occasion to regret that hestood committed to a share in this quarrel, for he came to know Richardas he really was. He had found him in an abject state, white andtrembling, his coward's fancy anticipating a hundred times a minute thedeath he was anon to die. 

Vallancey had hailed him cheerily. 

"The day is yours, Dick, " he had cried, when Richard entered the librarywhere he awaited him. "Wild Wilding has ridden to Taunton this morningand is to be back by noon. Odsbud, Dick!--twenty miles and more in thesaddle before coming on the ground. Heard you ever of the like madness?He'll be stiff as a broom-handle--an easy victim. "

Richard listened, stared, and, finding Vallancey's eyes fixed steadilyupon him, attempted a smile and achieved a horrible grimace. 

"What ails you, man?" cried his second, and caught him by the wrist. Hefelt the quiver of the other's limb. "Stab me!" quoth he, "you are in nocase to fight. What the plague ails you?"

"I am none so well this morning, " answered Richard feebly. "LordGervase's claret, " he added, passing a hand across his brow. 

"Lord Gervase's claret?" echoed Vallancey in horror, as at someoutrageous blasphemy. "Frontignac at ten shillings the bottle!" heexclaimed. 

"Still, claret never does lie easy on my stomach, " Richard explained, intent upon blaming Lord Gervase s wine--since he could think of nothingelse--for his condition. 

Vallancey looked at him shrewdly. "My cock, " said he, "if you're tofight we'll have to mend your temper. " He took it upon himself to ringthe bell, and to order up two bottles of Canary and one of brandy. If hewas to get his man to the ground at all--and young Vallancey had a duesense of his responsibilities in that connection--it would be well tosupply Richard with something to replace the courage that had oozedout overnight. Young Richard, never loath to fortify himself, provedamenable enough to the stiffly laced Canary that his friend set beforehim. Then, to divert his mind, Vallancey, with that rash freedom thathad made the whole of Somerset know him for a rebel, set himself to talkof the Protestant Duke and his right to the crown of England. 

He was still at his talk, Richard listening moodily what time he wasslowly but surely befuddling himself, when Sir Rowland--returning fromScoresby Hall--came to bring the news of his lack of success. Richardhailed him noisily, and bade him ring for another glass, adding, witha burst of oaths, some appalling threats of how anon he should serveAnthony Wilding. His wits drowned in the stiff liquor Vallancey hadpressed upon him, he seemed of a sudden to have grown as fierce andbloodthirsty as any scourer that ever terrorized the watch. 

Blake listened to him and grunted. "Body o' me!" swore the town gallant. "If that's the humour you're going out to fight in, I'll trouble you forthe eight guineas I won from you at Primero yesterday before you start. "

Richard reared himself, by the help of the table, and stood a thoughtunsteadily, his glance laboriously striving to engage Blake's. 

"Damn me!" quoth he. "Your want of faith dishgraces me--and 't 'shgracesyou. Shalt ha' the guineas when we're back--and not before. "

"Hum!" quoth Blake, to whom eight guineas were a consideration in thesebankrupt days. "And if you don't come back at all upon whom am I todraw?"

The suggestion sank through Dick's half-fuddled senses, and the scare itgave him was reflected on his face. 

"Damn you, Blake!" swore Vallancey between his teeth. "Is that a decentway to talk to a man who is going out? Never heed him, Dick! Let himwait for his dirty guineas till we return. "

"Thirty guineas?" hiccoughed Richard. "It was only eight. Anyhow--wait'll I've sli' the gullet of's Mr. Wilding. " He checked ona thought that suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Vallancey with aludicrous solemnity. "'Sbud!" he swore. "'S a scurvy trick I'm playingthe Duke. 'S treason to him--treason no less. " And he smote the tablewith his open hand. 

"What's that?" quoth Blake so sharply, his eyes so suddenly alert thatVallancey made haste to cover up his fellow rebel's indiscretion. 

"It's the brandy-and-Canary makes him dream, " said he with a laugh, andrising as he spoke he announced that it was high time they should setout. Thus he brought about a bustle that drove the Duke's business fromRichard's mind, and left Blake without a pretext to pursue his questfor information. But the mischief was done, and Blake's suspicions wereawake. He bethought him now of dark hints that Richard had let fallto Vallancey in the past few days, and of hints less dark with whichVallancey--who was a careless fellow at ordinary times--had answered. And now this mention of the Duke and of treason to him--to what Dukecould it refer but Monmouth?

Blake was well aware of the wild tales that were going round, and hebegan to wonder now was aught really afoot, and was his good friendWestmacott in it?

If there was, he bethought him that the knowledge might be of value, and it might help to float once more his shipwrecked fortunes. The hastewith which Vallancey had proffered a frivolous explanation of Richard'swords, the bustle with which upon the instant he swept Richard and SirRowland from the house to get to horse and ride out to Bridgwater werein themselves circumstances that went to heighten those suspicions ofSir Rowland's. But lacking all opportunity for investigation at themoment, he deemed it wisest to say no more just then lest he shouldbetray his watchfulness. 

They were the first to arrive upon the ground--an open space on theborders of Sedgemoor, in the shelter of Polden Hill. But they had notlong to wait before Wilding and Trenchard rode up, attended by a groom. Their arrival had an oddly sobering effect upon young Westmacott, forwhich Mr. Vallancey was thankful. For during their ride he had begun tofear that he had carried too far the business of equipping his principalwith artificial valour. 

Trenchard came forward to offer Vallancey the courteous suggestion thatMr. Wilding's servant should charge himself with the care of the horsesof Mr. Westmacott's party, if this would be a convenience tothem. Vallancey thanked him and accepted the offer, and thus thegroom--instructed by Trenchard--led the five horses some distance fromthe spot. 

It now became a matter of making preparation, and leaving Richard todivest himself of such garments as he might deem cumbrous, Vallanceywent forward to consult with Trenchard upon the choice of ground. Atthat same moment Mr. Wilding lounged forward, flicking the grass withhis whip in an absent manner. 

 "Mr. Vallancey, " he began, when Trenchard turned to interrupt him. 

"You can leave it safely to me, Tony, " he growled. "But there issomething I wish to say, Nick, " answered Mr. Wilding, his manner mild. "By your leave, then. " And he turned again to Valiancey. "Will you be sogood as to call Mr. Westmacott hither?"

Vallancey stared. "For what purpose, sir?" he asked. 

"For my purpose, " answered Mr. Wilding sweetly. "It is no longer my wishto engage with Mr. Westmacott. 

"Anthony!" cried Trenchard, and in his amazement forgot to swear. 

"I propose, " added Mr. Wilding, "to relieve Mr. Westmacott of thenecessity of fighting. "

Vallancey in his heart thought this might be pleasant news for hisprincipal. Still, he did not quite see how the end was to be attained, and said so. 

"You shall be enlightened if you will do as I request, " Wildinginsisted, and Vallancey, with a lift of the brows, a snort, and a shrug, turned away to comply. 

"Do you mean, " quoth Trenchard, bursting with indignation, "that youwill let live a man who has struck you?"

Wilding took his friend affectionately by the arm. "It is a whim ofmine, " said he. "Do you think, Nick, that it is more than I can affordto indulge?"

"I say not so, " was the ready answer; "but... "

"I thought you'd not, " said Mr. Wilding, interrupting. "And if anydoes--why, I shall be glad to prove it upon him that he lies. " Helaughed, and Trenchard, vexed though he was, was forced to laugh withhim. Then Nick set himself to urge the thing that last night had plaguedhis mind: that this Richard might prove a danger to the Cause; thatin the Duke's interest, if not to safeguard his own person from somevindictive betrayal, Wilding would be better advised in imposing areliable silence upon him. 

"But why vindictive?" Mr. Wilding remonstrated. "Rather must he havecause for gratitude. "

Mr. Trenchard laughed short and contemptuously. "There is, " said he, "norancour more bitter than that of the mean man who has offended you andwhom you have spared. I beg you'll ponder it. " He lowered his voice ashe ended his admonition, for Vallancey and Westmacott were coming up, followed by Sir Rowland Blake. 

Richard, although his courage had been sinking lower and lower in ameasure as he had grown more and more sober with the approach of themoment for engaging, came forward now with a firm step and an arrogantmien; for Vallancey had given him more than a hint of what was toward. His heart had leapt, not only at the deliverance that was promised him, but out of satisfaction at the reflection of how accurately last nighthe had gauged what Mr. Wilding would endure. It had dismayed him then, as we have seen, that this man who, he thought, must stomach any affrontfrom him out of consideration for his sister, should have ended bycalling him to account. He concluded now that upon reflection Wildinghad seen his error, and was prepared to make amends that he mightextricate himself from an impossible situation, and Richard blamedhimself for having overlooked this inevitable solution and given way toidle panic. 

Vallancey and Blake watching him, and the sudden metamorphosis that waswrought in him, despised him heartily, and yet were glad--for the sakeof their association with him--that things were as they were. 

"Mr. Westmacott, " said Wilding quietly, his eyes steadily set uponRichard's own arrogant gaze, his lips smiling a little, "I am here notto fight, but to apologize. "

Richard's sneer was audible to all. Oh, he was gathering courage fastnow that there no longer was the need for it. It urged him to lengths ofdaring possible only to a fool. 

"If you can take a blow, Mr. Wilding, " said he offensively, "that isyour own affair. "

And his friends gasped at his temerity and trembled for him, not knowingwhat grounds he had for counting himself unassailable. 

"Just so, " said Mr. Wilding, as meek and humble as a nun, and Trenchard, who had expected something very different from him, swore aloud and withsome circumstance of oaths. "The fact is, " continued Mr. Wilding, "thatwhat I did last night, I did in the heat of wine, and I am sorry forit. I recognize that this quarrel is of my provoking; that it wasunwarrantable in me to introduce the name of Mistress Westmacott, nomatter how respectfully; and that in doing so I gave Mr. Westmacottample grounds for offence. For that I beg his pardon, and I venture tohope that this matter need go no further. "

Vallancey and Blake were speechless in astonishment; Trenchardlivid with fury. Westmacott moved a step or two forward, a swaggerunmistakable in his gait, his nether-lip thrust out in a sneer. 

"Why, " said he, his voice mighty disdainful, "if Mr. Wilding apologizes, the matter hardly can go further. " He conveyed such a suggestion ofregret at this that Trenchard bounded forward, stung to speech. 

"But if Mr. Westmacott's disappointment threatens to overwhelm him, " hesnapped, very tartly, "I am his humble servant, and he may call upon meto see that he's not robbed of the exercise he came to take. "

Mr. Wilding set a restraining hand upon Trenchard's arm. 

Westmacott turned to him, the sneer, however, gone from his face. 

"I have no quarrel with you, sir, " said he, with an uneasy assumption ofdignity. 

"It's a want that may be soon supplied, " answered Trenchard briskly, and, as he afterwards confessed, had not Wilding checked him at thatmoment, he had thrown his hat in Richard's face. 

It was Vallancey who saved the situation, cursing in his heart thebearing of his principal. 

"Mr. Wilding, " said he, "this is very handsome in you. You are of thehappy few who may tender such an apology without reflection upon yourcourage. "

Mr. Wilding made him a leg very elegantly. "You are vastly kind, sir, "said he. 

"You have given Mr. Westmacott the fullest satisfaction, and it is withan increased respect for you--if that were possible--that I acknowledgeit on my friend's behalf. "

"You are, sir, a very mirror of the elegancies, " said Mr. Wilding, andVallancey wondered was he being laughed at. Whether he was or not, heconceived that he had done the only seemly thing. He had made handsomeacknowledgment of a handsome apology, stung to it by the currishness ofRichard. 

And there the matter ended, despite Trenchard's burning eagerness tocarry it himself to a different consummation. Wilding prevailed uponhim, and withdrew him from the field. But as they rode back to ZoylandChase the old rake was bitter in his inveighings against Wilding's follyand weakness. 

"I pray Heaven, " he kept repeating, "that it may not come to cost youdear. "

"Have done, " said Mr. Wilding, a trifle out of patience. "Could I wedthe sister having slain the brother?"

And Trenchard, understanding at last, accounted himself a numskull thathe had not understood before. But he none the less deemed it a pityRichard had been spared. 

CHAPTER VI. THE CHAMPION

As vainglorious was Richard Westmacott's retreat from the field ofunstricken battle as his advance upon it had been inglorious. He spokewith confidence now of the narrow escape that Wilding had had athis hands, of the things he would have done to Wilding had not thatgentleman grown wise in time. Sir Rowland, who had seen little ofRichard's earlier stricken condition, was in a measure imposed upon byhis blustering tone and manner; not so Vallancey, who remembered thesteps he had been forced to take to bolster up the young man's couragesufficiently to admit of his being brought to the encounter. Richard sodisgusted him that he felt if he did not quit his company soon, he wouldbe quarrelling with him himself. So, congratulating him, in a causticmanner that Richard did not relish, upon the happy termination of theaffair, Vallancey took his leave of him and Blake at the cross-roads, pleading business with Lord Gervase, and left them to proceed withouthim to Bridgwater. 

Blake, whose suspicions of some secret matter to which Vallanceyand Richard were wedded, had been earlier excited by Westmacott'sindiscretions, was full of sly questions now touching the business whichmight be taking Vallancey to Scoresby. But Richard was too full ofthe subject of the fear he had instilled into Wilding to afford hiscompanion much satisfaction on any other score. Thus they came to LuptonHouse, and as Richard swaggered down the lawn into the presence of theladies--Ruth and her aunt were occupying the stone bench, Diana thecircular seat about the great oak in the centre of the lawn--he was avery different person from the pale, limp creature they had beheld theresome few hours earlier. Loud and offensive was he now in self-laudation, and so indifferent to all else that he left unobserved the little smile, half wistful, half scornful, that visited his sister's lips when hesneeringly told how Mr. Wilding had chosen that better part of valourwhich discretion is alleged to be. 

It needed Diana, who, blinded by no sisterly affection, saw him exactlyas he was, and despised him accordingly, to enlighten him. It may alsobe that in doing so at once she had ends of her own to serve; for SirRowland was still of the company. 

"Mr. Wilding afraid?" she cried, her voice so charged with derision thatit inclined to shrillness. "La! Richard, Mr. Wilding was never afraid ofany man. "

"Faith!" said Rowland, although his acquaintance with Mr. Wilding wasslight and recent. "It is what I should think. He does not look like aman familiar with fear. "

Richard struck something of an attitude, his fair face flushed, his paleeyes glittering. "He took a blow, " said he, and sneered. 

"There may have been reasons, " Diana suggested darkly, and Sir Rowland'seyes narrowed at the hint. 

Again he recalled the words Richard had let fall that afternoon. Wildingand he were fellow workers in some secret business, and Richard had saidthat the encounter was treason to that same business, whatever it mightbe. And of what it might be Sir Rowland had grounds upon which to foundat least a guess. Had perhaps Wilding acted upon some similar feelingsin avoiding the duel? He wondered; and when Richard dismissed Diana'schallenge with a fatuous laugh, it was Blake who took it up. 

 "You speak, ma'am, " said he, "as if you knew that there werereasons, and knew, too, what those reasons might be. "

Diana looked at Ruth, as if for guidance before replying. But Ruth satcalm and seemingly impassive, looking straight before her. She was, indeed, indifferent how much Diana said, for in any case the mattercould not remain a secret long. Lady Horton, silent too and listening, looked a question at her daughter. 

And so, after a pause: "I know both, " said Diana, her eyes strayingagain to Ruth; and a subtler man than Blake would have read that glanceand understood that this same reason which he sought so diligently satthere before him. 

Richard, indeed, catching that sly look of his cousin's, checked hisassurance, and stood frowning, cogitating. Then, quite suddenly, hisvoice harsh:

"What do you mean, Diana?" he inquired. 

Diana shrugged and turned her shoulder to him. "You had best ask Ruth, "said she, which was an answer more or less plain to both the men. 

They stood at gaze, Richard looking a thought foolish. Blake, frowning, his heavy lip caught in his strong, white teeth. 

Ruth turned to her brother with an almost piteous attempt at a smile. She sought to spare him pain by excluding from her manner all suggestionthat things were other than she desired. 

"I am betrothed to Mr. Wilding, " said she. 

Sir Rowland made a sudden forward movement, drew a deep breath, and assuddenly stood still. Richard looked at his sister as she were mad andraving. Then he laughed, between unbelief and derision. 

"It is a jest, " said he, but his accents lacked conviction. 

"It is the truth, " Ruth assured him quietly. 

 "The truth?" His brow darkened ominously--stupendously for one sofair. "The truth, you baggage... ?" He began and stopped in very fury. 

She saw that she must tell him all. 

"I promised to wed Mr. Wilding this day se'night so that he saved yourlife and honour, " she told him calmly, and added, "It was a bargain thatwe drove. " Richard continued to stare at her. The thing she told himwas too big to be swallowed at a mouthful; he was absorbing it by slowdegrees. 

"So now, " said Diana, "you know the sacrifice your sister has made tosave you, and when you speak of the apology Mr. Wilding tendered you, perhaps you'll speak of it in a tone less loud. "

But the sarcasm was no longer needed. Already poor Richard was veryhumble, his make-believe spirit all snuffed out. He observed at lasthow pale and set was his sister's face, and he realized something ofthe sacrifice she had made. Never in all his life was Richard so nearto lapsing from the love of himself; never so near to forgetting hisown interests, and preferring those of Ruth. Lady Horton sat silent, herheart fluttering with dismay and perplexity. Heaven had not equipped herwith a spirit capable of dealing with a situation such as this. Blakestood in make believe stolidity dissembling his infinite chagrin andthe stormy emotions warring within him, for some signs of which Dianawatched his countenance in vain. 

"You shall not do it!" cried Richard suddenly. He came forward and laidhis hand on his sister's shoulder. His voice was almost gentle. "Ruth, you shall not do this for me. You must not. "

"By Heaven, no!" snapped Blake before she could reply. "You are right, Richard. Mistress Westmacott must not be the scapegoat. She shall notplay the part of Iphigenia. "

 But Ruth smiled wistfully as she answered him with a question, "Where is the help for it?"

Richard knew where the help for it lay, and for once--for just amoment--he contemplated danger and even death with equanimity. 

"I can take up this quarrel again, " he announced. "I can compel Mr. Wilding to meet me. "

Ruth's eyes, looking up at him, kindled with pride and admiration. Itwarmed her heart to hear him speak thus, to have this assurance that hewas anything but the coward she had been so disloyal as to deem him; nodoubt she had been right in saying that it was his health was the causeof the palsy he had displayed that morning; he was a little wild, sheknew; inclined to sit over-late at the bottle; with advancing manhood, she had no doubt, he would overcome this boyish failing. Meanwhileit was this foolish habit--nothing more--that undermined the inherentfirmness of his nature. And it comforted her generous soul to have thisproof that he was full worthy of the sacrifice she was making for him. Diana watched him in some surprise, and never doubted but that his offerwas impulsive, and that he would regret it when his ardour had had timeto cool. 

"It were idle, " said Ruth at last--not that she quite believed it, butthat it was all-important to her that Richard should not be imperilled. "Mr. Wilding will prefer the bargain he has made. "

 "No doubt, " growled Blake, "but he shall be forced to unmake it. "He advanced and bowed low before her. "Madam, " said he, "will you grantme leave to champion your cause and remove this troublesome Mr. Wildingfrom your path?"

Diana's eyes narrowed; her cheeks paled, partly from fear for Blake, partly from vexation at the promptness of an offer that afforded a freshand so eloquent proof of the trend of his affections. 

Ruth smiled at him in a very friendly manner, but gently shook her head. 

"I thank you, sir, " said she. "But it were more than I could permit. This has become a family affair. "

There was in her tone something which, despite its friendliness, gave Sir Rowland his dismissal. He was not at best a man of keensensibilities; yet even so, he could not mistake the request towithdraw that was implicit in her tone and manner. He took his leave, registering, however, in his heart a vow that he would have his way withWilding. Thus must he--through her gratitude--assuredly come to have hisway with Ruth. 

Diana rose and turned to her mother. "Come, " she said, "we'll speed SirRowland. Ruth and Richard would perhaps prefer to remain alone. "

Ruth thanked her with her eyes. Richard, standing beside his sister withbent head and moody gaze, did not appear to have heard. Thus he remaineduntil he and his half-sister were alone together, then he flung himselfwearily into the seat beside her, and took her hand. 

"Ruth, " he faltered, "Ruth!"

She stroked his hand, her honest, intelligent eyes bent upon him ina look of pity--and to indulge this pity for him, she forgot how muchherself she needed pity. 

"Take it not so to heart, " she urged him, her voice low and crooning--as that of a mother to her babe. "Take it not so to heart, Richard. I should have married some day, and, after all, it may well be that Mr. Wilding will make me as good a husband as another. I do believe, " sheadded, her only intent to comfort Richard; "that he loves me; and if heloves me, surely he will prove kind. "

He flung himself back with an exclamation of angry pain. He was white tothe lips, his eyes bloodshot. "It must not be--it shall not be--I'll notendure it!" he cried hoarsely. 

"Richard, dear... " she began, recapturing the hand he had snatched fromhers in his gust of emotion. 

 He rose abruptly, interrupting her. "I'll go to Wilding now, " hecried, his voice resolute. "He shall cancel this bargain he had no rightto make. He shall take up his quarrel with me where it stood before youwent to him. "

"No, no, Richard, you must not!" she urged him, frightened, rising too, and clinging to his arm. 

"I will, " he answered. "At the worst he can but kill me. But at leastyou shall not be sacrificed. "

"Sit here, Richard, " she bade him. "There is something you have notconsidered. If you die, if Mr. Wilding kills you... " she paused. 

He looked at her, and at the repetition of the fate that would probablyawait him if he persevered in the course he threatened, his purelyemotional courage again began to fail him. A look of fear creptgradually into his face to take the room of the resolution that had beenstamped upon it but a moment since. 

He swallowed hard. "What then?" he asked, his voice harsh, and, obeyingher command and the pressure on his hand, he resumed his seat besideher. 

She spoke now at length and very gravely, dwelling upon the circumstancethat he was the head of the family, the last Westmacott of his line, pointing out to him the importance of his existence, the insignificanceof her own. She was but a girl, a thing of small account where theperpetuation of a family was at issue. After all, she must marrysomebody some day, she repeated, and perhaps she had been foolish inattaching too much importance to the tales she had heard of Mr. Wilding. Probably he was no worse than other men, and after all he wasa gentleman of wealth and position, such a man as half the women inSomerset might be proud to own for husband. 

Her arguments and his weakness--his returning cowardice, which made himlend an ear to those same arguments--prevailed with him; at least theyconvinced him that he was far too important a person to risk his life inthis quarrel upon which he had so rashly entered. He did not say thathe was convinced; but he said that he would give the matter thought, hinting that perhaps some other way might present itself of cancellingthe bargain she had made. They had a week before them, and in any casehe promised readily in answer to her entreaties--for her faith inhim was a thing unquenchable--that he would do nothing without takingcounsel with her. 

Meanwhile Diana had escorted Sir Rowland to the main gates of LuptonHouse, in front of which Miss Westmacott's groom was walking his horse, awaiting him. 

"Sir Rowland, " said she at parting, "your chivalry makes you take thismatter too deeply to heart. You overlook the possibility that my cousinmay have good reason for not desiring your interference. "

He looked keenly at this little lady to whom a month ago he had beenon the point of offering marriage. His coxcombry might readily havesuggested to him that she was in love with him, but that his conscienceand inclinations urged him to assure himself that this was not the case. 

"What shall that mean, madam?" he asked her. 

Diana hesitated. "What I have said is plain, " she answered, and it wasclear that she held something back. 

Sir Rowland flattered himself upon the shrewdness with which he read her, never dreaming that he had but read just what she intended he should. 

He stood squarely before her, shaking his great head. "Not plain enoughfor me, " he said. Then his tone softened to one of prayer. "Tell me, " hebesought her. 

"I can't! I can't!" she cried in feigned distress. "It were toodisloyal. "

He frowned. He caught her arm and pressed it, his heart sick withjealous alarm. "What do you mean? Tell me, tell me, Mistress Horton. "

Diana lowered her eyes. "You'll not betray me?" she stipulated. 

 "Why, no. Tell me. "

She flushed delicately. "I am disloyal to Ruth, " she said, "and yet I amloath to see you cozened. "

"Cozened?" quoth he hoarsely, his egregious vanity in arms. "Cozened?"

Diana explained. "Ruth was at his house to-day, " said she, "closetedalone with him for an hour or more. "

"Impossible!" he cried. 

"Where else was the bargain made?" she asked, and shattered his lastdoubt. "You know that Mr. Wilding has not been here. "

Yet Blake struggled heroically against conviction. 

"She went to intercede for Richard, " he protested. Miss Horton lookedup at him, and under her glance Sir Rowland felt that he was a man ofunfathomable ignorance. Then she turned aside her eyes and shrugged hershoulders 'very eloquently. "You are a man of the world, Sir Rowland. You cannot seriously suppose that any maid would so imperil her goodname in any cause?"

Darker grew his florid countenance; his bulging eyes looked troubled andperplexed. 

"You mean that she loves him?" he said, between question and assertion. 

Diana pursed her lips. "You shall draw your own inference, " quoth she. 

He breathed heavily, and squared his broad shoulders, as one who braceshimself for battle against an element stronger than himself. 

"But her talk of sacrifice?" he cried. 

Diana laughed, and again he was stung by her contempt of hisperceptions. "Her brother is set against her marrying him, " said she. "Here was her chance. Is it not very plain?"

Doubt stared from his eyes. "Why do you tell me this?"

"Because I esteem you, Sir Rowland, " she answered very gently. "I wouldnot have you meddle in a matter you cannot mend. "

"Which I am not desired to mend, say rather, " he replied with heavysarcasm. "She would not have my interference!" He laughed angrily. "Ithink you are right, Mistress Diana, " he said, "and I think that morethan ever is there the need to kill this Mr. Wilding. "

He took his departure abruptly, leaving her scared at the mischief shehad made for him in seeking to save him from it, and that very night hesought out Wilding. 

But Wilding was from home again. Under its placid surface the WestCountry was in a ferment. And if hitherto Mr. Wilding had disdained theinsistent rumours of Monmouth's coming, his assurance was shaken now byproof that the Government, itself, was stirring; for four companies offoot and a troop of horse had been that day ordered to Taunton by theDeputy-Lieutenant. Wilding was gone with Trenchard to White Lackingtonin a vain hope that there he might find news to confirm his persistingunbelief in any such rashness as was alleged on Monmouth's part. 

So Blake was forced to wait, but his purpose suffered nothing by delay. 

Returning on the morrow, he found Mr. Wilding at table with NickTrenchard, and he cut short the greetings of both men. He flung hishat--a black castor trimmed with a black feather--rudely among thedishes on the board. 

"I have come to ask you, Mr. Wilding, " said he, "to be so good as totell me the colour of that hat. "

Mr. Wilding raised one eyebrow and looked aslant at Trenchard, whoseweather-beaten face was suddenly agrin with stupefaction. 

"I could not, " said Mr. Wilding, "deny an answer to a question set socourteously. " He looked up into Blake's flushed and scowling face withthe sweetest and most innocent of smiles. "You'll no doubt disagree withme, " said he, "but I love to meet a man halfway. Your hat, sir, is aswhite as virgin snow. "

Blake's slow wits were disconcerted for a moment. Then he smiledviciously. "You mistake, Mr. Wilding, " said he. "My hat is black. "

Mr. Wilding looked more attentively at the object in dispute. He was ina trifling mood, and the stupidity of this runagate debtor afforded himopportunities to indulge it. "Why, true, " said he, "now that I come tolook, I perceive that it is indeed black. "

And again was Sir Rowland disconcerted. Still he pursued the lesson hehad taught himself. 

"You are mistaken again, " said he, "that hat is green. "

"Indeed?" quoth Mr. Wilding, like one surprised and he turned toTrenchard, who was enjoying himself. "What is your own opinion of it, Nick?"

Thus appealed to, Trenchard's reply was prompt. "Why, since you askme, " said he, "my opinion is that it's a noisome thing not meet for agentleman's table. " And he took it up, and threw it through the window. 

Sir Rowland was entirely put out of countenance. Here was a deliberateshifting of the quarrel he had come to pick, which left him all at sea. It was his duty to himself to take offence at Mr. Trenchard's action. But that was not the business on which he had come. He became angry. 

"Blister me!" he cried. "Must I sweep the cloth from the table beforeyou'll understand me?"

"If you were to do anything so unmannerly I should have you flung outof the house, " said Mr. Wilding, "and it would distress me so to treata person of your station and quality. The hat shall serve your purpose, although Mr. Trenchard's concern for my table has removed it. Ourmemories will supply its absence. What colour did you say it was?"

"I said it was green, " answered Blake, quite ready to keep to the point. 

"Nay, I am sure you were wrong, " said Wilding with a grave air. "Although I admit that since it is your own hat, you should be the bestjudge of its colour, I am, nevertheless, of opinion that it is black. "

"And if I were to say that it is white?" asked Blake, feeling mightyridiculous. 

"Why, in that case you would be confirming my first impression of it, "answered Wilding, and Trenchard let fly a burst of laughter at sightof the baronet's furious and bewildered countenance. "And since we areagreed on that, " continued Mr. Wilding, imperturbable, "I hope you'lljoin us at supper. "

"I'll be damned, " roared Blake, "if ever I sit at table of yours, sir. "

"Ah!" said Mr. Wilding regretfully. "Now you become offensive. "

"I mean to be, " said Blake. 

"You astonish me!"

"You lie! I don't, " Sir Rowland answered him in triumph. He had got itout at last. 

Mr. Wilding sat back in his chair, and looked at him, his faceinexpressibly shocked. 

"Will you of your own accord deprive us of your company, Sir Rowland, "he wondered, "or shall Mr. Trenchard throw you after your hat?"

"Do you mean... " gasped the other, "that you'll ask no satisfaction ofme?"

"Not so. Mr. Trenchard shall wait upon your friends to-morrow, and Ihope you'll afford us then as felicitous entertainment as you do now. "

Sir Rowland snorted, and, turning on his heel, made for the door. 

"Give you a good night, Sir Rowland, " Mr. Wilding called after him. "Walters, you rascal, light Sir Rowland to the door. "

Poor Blake went home deeply vexed; but it was no more than the beginningof his humiliation at Mr. Wilding's hands--for what can be morehumiliating to a quarrel--seeking man than to have his enemy refuse totreat him seriously? He and Mr. Wilding met next morning, and beforenoon the tale of it had run through Bridgwater that Wild Wilding was athis tricks again. It made a pretty story how twice he had disarmed andeach time spared the London beau, who still insisted--each time morefuriously--upon renewing the encounter, till Mr. Wilding had been forcedto run him through the sword-arm and thus put him out of all case ofcontinuing. It was a story that heaped ridicule upon Sir Rowland and didcredit to Mr. Wilding. 

Richard heard it, and trembled, enraged and impotent. Ruth heard it, andwas stirred despite herself to a feeling of gratitude towards Wildingfor the patience and toleration he had displayed. 

There for a while the matter rested, and the days passed slowly. But SirRowland's nature--mean at bottom--was spurred to find him some otherway of wiping out the score that lay 'twixt him and Mr. Wilding, a scoremightily increased by the shame that Mr. Wilding had put upon him inthat encounter from which--whatever the issue--he had looked to cullgreat credit in Ruth's eyes. 

He had been thinking constantly of the incautious words that Richardhad let fall, thinking of them in conjunction with the startling rumoursthat were now the talk of the whole countryside. He laid two and twotogether, and the four he found them make afforded him some hope. Thenhe realized--as he might have realized before had he been shrewder--thatRichard's mood was one that made him ripe for any villainy. He thoughtthat he was much in error if a treachery existed so black that Richardwould quail before it, if it but afforded him the means of riddinghimself and the world of Mr. Wilding. He was considering how best toapproach the subject, when it happened that one night when Richard satat play with him in his own lodging, the boy grew talkative throughexcess of wine. It happened naturally enough that Richard sought anally in Blake, just as Blake sought an ally in Richard. Indeed, theirfortunes--so far as Ruth was concerned--were bound up together. Thebaronet saw that Richard, half-fuddled, was ripe for any confidencesthat might aim at the destruction of his enemy. He questioned himadroitly, and drew from him the story of the rising that was beingplanned, and of the share that Mr. Wilding--one of the Duke ofMonmouth's chief movement-men--bore in the business that was toward. 

When, towards midnight, Richard Westmacott went home, he left in SirRowland's hands an instrument which the latter accounted potential notonly for the destruction of Anthony Wilding, but perhaps also for layingthe foundations to the building of his own fortunes anew. 

CHAPTER VII. THE NUPTIALS OF RUTH WESTMACOTT

Here was Sir Rowland Blake in high fettle at knowing himself armed witha portentous weapon for the destruction of Anthony Wilding. Upon closerinspection of it, however, he came to realize--as Richard had realizedearlier--that it was double-edged, and that the wielding of it must befraught with as much danger for Richard as for their common enemy. Forto betray Mr. Wilding and the plot would scarce be possible withoutbetraying young Westmacott, and that was unthinkable, since to ruinRichard--a thing he would have done with a light heart so far as Richardwas himself concerned--would be to ruin his own hopes of winning Ruth. 

Therefore, during the days that followed, Sir Rowland was forced tofret in idleness what time his wound was healing; but if his arm wasinvalided, his eyes and ears were sound, and he remained watchful for anopportunity to apply the knowledge he had gained. Richard mentioned thesubject no more, so that Blake almost came to wonder whether the boyremembered what in his cups he had betrayed. 

Meanwhile Mr. Wilding moved serene and smiling on his way. Daily therewere great armfuls of flowers deposited at Lupton House--his lover'soffering to his mistress--and no day went by but that some richer giftaccompanied them. Now it was a collar of brilliants, anon a rope ofpearls, again a priceless ring that had been Mr. Wilding's mother's. Ruth received with reluctance these pledges of his undesired affection. It were idle to reject them, considering that she was to marry him; yetit hurt her sorely to retain them. On her side she made no dispositionsfor the marriage, but went about her daily tasks as though she were toremain a maid at Lupton House for a time as yet indefinite. 

In Diana, Wilding had--though he was far from guessing it--an entirelyexceptional ally. Lady Horton, too, was favourably disposed towards him. A foolish, worldly woman, who never probed beneath life's surface, norindeed dreamed that anything existed in life beyond that to which herfive senses testified, she was content placidly to contemplate theadvantages that must accrue to her niece from this alliance. 

And so mother and daughter in Mr. Wilding's absence pleaded his causewith his refractory bride-elect. But they pleaded it to little realpurpose. Something perhaps they achieved in that Ruth grew more orless resigned to the fate that awaited her. By repeating to herself thearguments she had employed to Richard--that she must wed some day, andthat Mr. Wilding would prove no doubt as good a husband as another--shecame in a measure to believe them. 

Richard meanwhile appeared to avoid her. Lacking the courage to adoptthe heroic measures which at first he had promised, yet had he graceenough to take shame at his inaction. But if he was idle so far asMr. Wilding was concerned, there was no lack of work for him in otherconnections. The clouds of war were gathering in that summer sky, andabout to loose the storm gestating in them upon that fair country ofthe West, and young Westmacott, committed as he stood to the Duke ofMonmouth's party, was forced to take his share in the surreptitiousbustle that was toward. He was away two days in that week, having beensummoned to a meeting of the leading gentlemen of the party at WhiteLackington, where he was forced into the unwelcome company of his futurebrother-in-law, to meet with courteous, deferential treatment from thatimperturbable gentleman. 

Wilding, indeed, seemed to have forgotten that any quarrel had everexisted between them. For the rest, he came and went, supremely calm, asif he were, and knew himself to be, most welcome at Lupton House. Thricein the course of that week of waiting he rode over from Zoyland Chaseto pay his duty to Mistress Westmacott, and Ruth was persuaded on eachoccasion by her aunt and cousin to receive him. Indeed, how could shewell refuse?

His manner was ever all that could be desired. Gallant, affectionate, deferential. He was in word and look and tone Ruth's most obedientservant. Had she been less prejudiced she must have admired theadmirable restraint with which he kept all exultation from his manner, for, after all, it is difficult to force a victory as he had forced his, and not to triumph. 

 It is to be feared that during that week he neglected a good dealof his duty to the Duke, leaving Trenchard to supply his place andundertake tasks of a seditious nature that should have been his own. 

At heart, however, in spite of the stories current and the militia atTaunton, Wilding remained convinced--as did most of the other leadingpartisans of the Protestant Cause--that no such madness as thispremature landing could be in contemplation by the Duke. Besides, wereit so, they must unfailingly have definite word of it; and they hadnone. 

Trenchard was less assured, but Wilding laughed at the old rake'sforebodings, and serenely went about the business of his marriage. 

On the eve of the wedding he paid Ruth his last visit in the qualityof a lover, and was received by her in the garden. He found her lookingpaler than her wont, and there was a cloud of sadness on her brow, ahaunting sadness in her eyes. It touched him to the soul, and for amoment he wavered in his purpose. He stood beside her--she seated onthe old lichened seat--and a silence fell between them, during whichMr. Wilding's conscience wrestled with his stronger passion. It was hishabit to be glib, talking incessantly what time he was in her company, and seeing to it that his talk was shallow and touched at nothingbelonging to the deeps of human life. Thus was it, perhaps, that thissudden and enduring silence affected her most oddly; it was as if shehad absorbed some notion of what was passing in his mind. She looked upsuddenly into his face, so white and so composed. Their eyes met, and hestooped to her suddenly, his long brown ringlets tumbling forward. Shefeared his kiss, yet never moved, staring up with fixed, dilated eyes asif fascinated by his dark, brooding gaze. He paused, hovering above herupturned face as hovers the hawk above the dove. 

"Child, " he said at last, and his voice was soft and winning from verysadness, "child, why do you fear me?"

The truth of it went home to her. She feared him; she feared thestrength that lay behind that calm; she feared the masterfulness of hiswild but inscrutably hidden nature; she was afraid to surrender tosuch a man as this, afraid that in the hot crucible of his love her ownnature would be dissolved, transmuted, and rendered part of his. Yet, though the truth was now made plain to her, she thrust it from her. 

"I do not fear you, " said she, and her voice at least rang fearlessly. 

"Do you hate me, then?" he asked. Her glance grew troubled and fellaway from his; it sought the calm of the river, gleaming golden in thesunset. There was a pause. Wilding sighed heavily, and straightenedhimself from his bending posture. 

"You should not have sought thus to compel me, she said presently. 

"I own it, " he answered a thought bitterly. "I own it. Yet what hope hadI but in compulsion?" She returned him no answer. "You see, " he said, with increasing bitterness, "you see, that had I not seized the chancethat was mine to win you by compulsion I had not won you at all. "

"It might, " said she, "have been better so for both of us. "

"Better for neither, " he replied. "Ah, think it not! In time, I swear, you shall not think it. For you shall come to love me, Ruth, " he addedwith a note of such assurance that she turned to meet again his gaze. He answered the wordless question of her eyes. "There is, " said he, "nolove of man for woman, so that the man be not wholly unworthy, so thathis passion be sincere and strong, that can fail in time to arouseresponse. " She smiled a little pitiful smile of unbelief. "Were I aboy, " he rejoined, his earnestness vibrating now in a voice that wasusually so calm and level, "offering you protestations of a callowworship, you might have cause to doubt me. But I am a man, Ruth--atried, and haply a sinful man, alas!--a man who needs you, and who willhave you at all costs. "

"At all costs?" she echoed, and her lip took on a curl. "And you callthis egotism by the name of love! No doubt you are right, " she continuedwith an irony that stung him, "for love it is--love of yourself. "

"And is not all love of another founded upon the love of self?" he askedher, startling her with a question that revealed to her clear-sightedmind a truth undreamed of. "When some day--please Heaven--I come to findfavour in your eyes, and you come to love me, what will it mean but thatyou have come to find me necessary to yourself and to your happiness?Would you deny me now your love if you felt that you had need of mine?I love you because I love myself, you say. I grant it you. But you'llconfess that if you do not love me yet, it is for the same reason, andthat when you do come to love me the reason will be still the same. "

"You are very sure that I shall come to love you, said she, shiftingwoman-like the ground of argument now that she found insecure the placeon which at first she had taken her stand. 

"Were I not, think you I should compel you to the church to-morrow?"

She trembled at his calm assurance. It was as if she almost feared thatwhat he said might come to pass. 

"Since you bear such faith in your heart, " said she, "were it notnobler, more generous, that you should set yourself to win me first andwed me afterwards?"

"It is the course I should, myself, prefer, " he answered quietly. "Butit is a course denied me. I was viewed here with disfavour, almostdenied your house. What chance had I whilst I might not come near you, whilst your mind was poisoned against me by the idle, vicious prattlethat goes round and round the countryside, increasing ever in bulk fromconstant repetition?"

"Do you say that these tales are groundless?" she asked, with a suddenlifting of the eyes, a sudden keen eagerness that did not escape him. 

"I would to God I could, " he cried, "since from your manner I see thatwould improve me in your sight. But there is just sufficient truth inthem to forbid me, as I am, I hope, a gentleman, from giving them a fulldenial. Yet in what am I worse than my fellows? Are you of those whothink a husband should come to them as one whose youth has been theyouth of cloistered nun? Heaven knows, I am not one to draw parallels'twixt myself and any other, yet you compel me. Whilst you deny me, youreceive this fellow Blake--a London night-scourer, a broken gamesterwho has given his creditors leg-bail, and who woos you that with yourfortune he may close the doors of the debtor's gaol that's open toreceive him. "

"This is unworthy in you, " she exclaimed, her tone indignant--soindignant that he experienced his first pang of jealousy. 

"It would be were I his rival, " he answered quietly. "But I am not. Ihave saved you from becoming the prey of such as he by forcing you tomarry me. "

"That I may become the prey of such as you, instead, " was her retort. 

He looked at her a moment, smiling sadly. Then, with pardonableself-esteem when we think of what manner of man it was with whom he nowcompared himself, "Surely, " said he, "it is better to become the prey ofthe lion than the jackal. "

"To the victim it can matter little, " she answered, and he saw the tearsgathering in her eyes. 

Compassion moved him. It rose in arms to batter down his will, and in aweaker man had triumphed. Mr. Wilding bent his knee and went down besideher. 

"I swear, " he said impassionedly, "that as my wife you shall never countyourself a victim. You shall be honoured by all men, but by none moredeeply than by him who will ever strive to be worthy of the proud titleof your husband. " He took her hand and kissed it reverentially. He roseand looked at her. "To-morrow, " he said, and bowing low before her wenthis way, leaving her with emotions that found their vent in tears, butdefied her maiden mind to understand them. 

The morrow came her wedding-day--a sunny day of early June, andRuth--assisted by Diana and Lady Horton--made preparation for hermarriage as spirited women have made preparation for the scaffold, determined to show the world a brave, serene exterior. The sacrifice wasnecessary for Richard's sake. That was a thing long since determined. Yet it would have been some comfort to her to have had Richard at herside; it would have lent her strength to have had his kiss of thanksfor the holocaust which for him she was making of all that a woman holdsmost dear and sacred. But Richard was away--he had been absent sinceyesterday, and none could tell her where he tarried. 

With Lady Horton and Diana she took her way to Saint Mary's Church atnoon, and there she found Mr. Wilding--very fine in a suit of sky-bluesatin, laced with silver--awaiting her. And with him was old LordGervase Scoresby, his friend and cousin, the very incarnation ofbenignity and ruddy health. 

For a wonder Nick Trenchard was not at Mr. Wilding's side. But Nickhad definitely refused to be of the party, emphasizing his refusal bycertain choice reflections wholly unflattering to the married state. 

Some idlers of the town were the only witnesses--and little did theyguess the extent of the tragedy they were witnessing. There was nomusic, and the ceremony was brief and soon at an end. The only touch ofjoy, of festiveness, was that afforded by the choice blooms with whichMr. Wilding had smothered nave and choir and altar-rails. Their perfumehung heavy as incense in the temple. 

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" droned the parson'svoice, and Wilding smiled defiantly a smile which seemed to answer him, "No man. I have taken her for myself. "

Lord Gervase stood forward as her sponsor, and as in a dream Ruth felther hand lying in Mr. Wilding's cool, firm grasp. 

The ecclesiastic's voice droned on, his voice hanging like the hum ofsome great Insect upon the scented air. It was accomplished, and theywere welded each to the other until death should part them. 

Down the festooned nave she came on his arm, her step unfaltering, her face calm; black misery in her heart. Behind followed her aunt andcousin and Lord Gervase. On Mr. Wilding's aquiline face a pale smileglimmered, like a beam of moonlight upon tranquil waters, and it abodethere until they reached the porch and were suddenly confronted by NickTrenchard, red of face for once, perspiring, excited, and dust-stainedfrom head to foot. 

He had arrived that very instant; and, urged by the fearful news thatbrought him, he had come resolved to pluck Wilding from the altar be theceremony done or not. But in that he reckoned without Mr. Wilding--forhe should have known him better than to have hoped to succeed. Hestepped forward now, and gripped him with his dusty glove by thesleeve of his shimmering bridegroom's coat. His voice came harsh withexcitement and smouldering rage. 

"A word with you, Anthony!"

Mr. Wilding turned placidly to regard him. "What now?" he asked, hisbride's hand retained in the crook of his elbow. 

"Treachery!" snapped Trenchard in a whisper. "Hell and damnation! Stepaside, man. "

Mr. Wilding turned to Lord Gervase, and begged of him to take charge ofMistress Wilding. "I deplore this interruption, " he told her, no whitruffled by what he had heard. "But I shall rejoin you soon. Meanwhile, his lordship will do the honours for me. " This last he said with hiseyes moving to Lady Horton and her daughter. 

Lord Gervase, in some surprise, but overruled by his cousin's calm, took the bride on his arm and led her from the churchyard to the waitingcarriage. To this he handed her, and after her her aunt and cousin. Then, mounting himself, they drove away, leaving Wilding and Trenchardamong the tombstones, whither the messenger of evil had meanwhile ledhis friend. Trenchard rapped out his story briefly. 

"Shenke, " said he, "who was riding from Lyme with letters for you fromthe Duke, was robbed of his dispatches late last night a mile or so thisside Taunton. "

"Highwaymen?" inquired Mr. Wilding, his tone calm, though his glance hadhardened. 

"Highwaymen? No! Government agents belike. There were two of them, hesays--for I have the tale from himself--and they met him at the Hare andHounds at Taunton, where he stayed to sup last night. One of them gavehim the password, and he conceived him to be a friend. But afterwards, growing suspicious, he refused to tell them too much. They followedhim, it appears, and on the road they overtook and fell upon him; theyknocked him from his horse, possessed themselves of the contents of hiswallet, and left him for dead--with his head broken. "

Mr. Wilding drew a sharp breath. His wits worked quickly. He was, herealized, in deadly peril. One thought he gave to Ruth. If the worstcame to pass here was one who would rejoice in her freedom. Thereflection cut through him like a sword. He would be loath to dieuntil he had taught her to regret him. Then his mind returned to whatTrenchard had told him. 

"You said a Government agent, " he mused slowly. "How would a Governmentagent know the password?"

Trenchard's mouth fell open. "I had not thought... " he began. Then endedwith an oath. "'Tis a traitor from inside. "

Wilding nodded. "It must be one of those who met at White Lackingtonthree nights ago, " he answered. 

Idlers--the witnesses of the wedding--were watching them with interestfrom the path, and others from over the low wall of the churchyard, as well they might, for Mr. Wilding's behaviour was, for a bridegroom, extraordinary. Trenchard did not relish the audience. 

"We had best away, " said he. "Indeed, " he added, "we had best outof England altogether before the hue and cry is raised. The bubble'spricked. "

Wilding's hand fell on his arm, and its grasp was steady. Wilding's eyesmet his, and their gaze was calm. 

"Where have you bestowed this messenger?" quoth he. 

"He is here in Bridgwater, in bed, at the Bell Inn, whence he sent foryou to Zoyland Chase. Suspecting trouble, I rode to him at once myself. "

"Come, then, " said Wilding. "We'll go talk with him. This matter needsprobing ere we decide on flight. You do not seem to have sought todiscover who were the thieves, nor other matters that it may be of useto know. "

"Rat me!" swore Trenchard. "I was in haste to bring you news ofit. Besides, there were other things to talk of. There is news thatAlbemarle has gone to Exeter, and that Sir Edward Phelips and ColonelLuttrell have been ordered to Taunton by the King. "

Mr. Wilding stared at him with sudden dismay. 

"Odso!" he exclaimed. "Is King James taking fright at last?" Thenhe shrugged his shoulders and laughed; "Pshaw!" he cried. "They arestarting at a shadow. "

"Heaven send, " prayed Trenchard, "that the shadow does not prove to havea substance immediately behind it. "

"Folly!" said Wilding. "When Monmouth comes, indeed, we shall not lackforewarning. Come, " he added briskly. "We'll see this messenger andendeavour to discover who were these fellows that beset him. " And hedrew Trenchard from among the tombstones to the open path, and thus fromthe churchyard and the eyes of the gaping onlookers. 

CHAPTER VIII. BRIDE AND GROOM

And so the bridegroom, in all his wedding finery, made his way withTrenchard to the Bell Inn, in the High Street, whilst his bride, escorted by Lord Gervase, was being driven to Zoyland Chase, of whichshe was now the mistress. 

But she was not destined just yet to cross its threshold. For scarcelywere they over the river when a horseman barred their way, and calledupon the driver to pull up. Lady Horton, in a panic, huddled herselfin the great coach and spoke of tobymen, whilst Lord Gervase thrusthis head from the window to discover that the rider who stayed theirprogress was Richard Westmacott. His lordship hailed the boy, who, thereupon, walked his horse to the carriage door. 

"Lord Gervase, " said he, "will you bid the coachman put about and driveto Lupton House?"

Lord Gervase stared at him in hopeless bewilderment. "Drive to LuptonHouse?" he echoed. The more he saw of this odd wedding, the less heunderstood of it. It seemed to the placid old gentleman that he wasfallen among a parcel of Bedlamites. "Surely, sir, it is for MistressWilding to say whither she will be driven, " and he drew in his head andturned to Ruth for her commands. But, bewildered herself, she had noneto give him. It was her turn to lean from the carriage window to ask herbrother what he meant. 

 "I mean you are to drive home again, " said he. "There is somethingI must tell you. When you have heard me it shall be yours to decidewhether you will proceed or not to Zoyland Chase. "

Hers to decide? How was that possible? What could he mean? She pressedhim with some such questions. 

"It means, in short, " he answered impatiently, "that I hold yoursalvation in my hands. For the rest, this is not the time or place totell you more. Bid the fellow put about. "

Ruth sat back and looked once more at her companions. But from none didshe receive the least helpful suggestion. Lady Horton made great prattleto little purpose; Lord Gervase followed her example, whilst Diana, whose alert if trivial mind was the one that might have offeredassistance, sat silent. Ruth pondered. She bethought her of Trenchard'ssudden arrival at Saint Mary's, his dust-stained person and excitedmanner, and of how he had drawn Mr. Wilding aside with news that seemedof moment. And now her brother spoke of saving her; it was a little latefor that, she thought. Outside the coach his voice still urged her, andit grew peevish and angry, as was usual when he was crossed. In the endshe consented to do his will. If she were to fathom this mystery thatwas thickening about her there seemed to be no other course. She turnedto Lord Gervase. 

"Will you do as Richard says?" she begged him. 

His lordship blew out his chubby cheeks in his astonishment; hehesitated a moment, thinking of his cousin Wilding; then, with a shrug, he leaned from the window and gave the order she desired. The carriageturned about, and with Richard following lumbered back across the bridgeand through the town to Lupton House. At the door Lord Gervase took hisleave of them. He had acted as Ruth had bidden him; but he had no wishto be further involved in this affair, whatever it might portend. Ratherwas it his duty at once to go acquaint Mr. Wilding--if he could findhim--with what was taking place, and leave it to Mr. Wilding to takewhat measures might seem best to him. He told them so, and having toldthem, left them. 

Richard begged to be alone with his sister, and alone they passedtogether into the library. His manner was restless; he trembled withexcitement, and his eyes glittered almost feverishly. 

"You may have thought, Ruth, that I was resigned to your marriage withthis fellow Wilding, " he began; "or that for other reasons I thought itwiser not to interfere. If you thought that you wronged me. I--Blake andI--have been at work for you during these last days, and I rejoiceto say our labours have not been idle. " His manner grew assertive, boastful, as he proceeded. 

"You know, of course, " said she, "that I am married. "

He made a gesture of disdain. "No matter, " said he exultantly. 

"It matters something, I think, " she answered. "O Richard, Richard, whydid you not come to me sooner if you possessed the means of sparing methis thing?"

He shrugged impatiently; her remonstrance seemed to throw him out oftemper. "Oons!" he cried; "I came as soon as was ever possible, and, depend upon it, I am not come too late. Indeed, I think I am come in thevery nick of time. " He drew a sheet of paper from an inside pocket ofhis coat and slapped it down upon the table. "There is the wherewithalto hang your fine husband, " he announced in triumph. 

She recoiled. "To hang him?" she echoed. With all her aversion to Mr. Wilding it was plain she did not wish him hanged. 

"Aye, to hang him, " Richard repeated, and drew himself to the fullheight of his short stature in pride at the thing he had achieved. "Readit. "

She took the paper almost mechanically, and for some moments she studiedthe crabbed signature before realizing whose it was. Then she started. 

"From the Duke of Monmouth!" she exclaimed. 

He laughed. "Read it, " he bade her again, though there was no need forthe injunction, for already she was deciphering the crabbed hand andthe atrocious spelling--for His Grace of Monmouth's education had beennotoriously neglected. The letter, which was dated from The Hague, wasaddressed "To my good friend W. , at Bridgwater. " It began, "Sir, " spokeof the imminent arrival of His Grace in the West, and gave certaininstructions for the collection of arms and the work of preparing menfor enlistment in his Cause, ending with protestations of His Grace'sfriendship and esteem. 

Ruth read the epistle twice before its treasonable nature was made clearto her; before she understood the thing that was foreshadowed. Thenshe raised troubled eyes to her brother's face, and in answer to thequestion of her glance he made clear to her the shrewd means by whichthey had become possessed of this weapon that should destroy their enemyMr. Wilding. 

Blake and he, forewarned--he said not how--of the coming of thismessenger, had lain in wait for him at the Hare and Hounds, at Taunton. They had sought at first to become possessed of the letter withoutviolence. But, having failed in this through having aroused themessenger's suspicions, they had been forced to follow and attack him ona lonely stretch of road, where they had robbed him of the contents ofhis wallet. Richard added that the letter was, no doubt, one of severalsent over by Monmouth to some friend at Lyme for distribution among hisprincipal agents in the West. It was regrettable that they shouldhave endeavoured to take gentle measures with the courier, as this hadforewarned him, and he had apparently been led to remove theletter's outer wrapper--which, no doubt, bore Wilding's full name andaddress--against the chance of such an attack as they had made upon him. Nevertheless, as it was, that letter "to my good friend W. , " backed byRichard's and Blake's evidence of the destination intended for it, wouldbe more than enough to lay Mr. Wilding safely by the heels. 

"I would to Heaven, " he repeated in conclusion, "I could have come intime to save you from becoming his wife. But at least it is in my powerto make you very speedily his widow. "

"That, " said Ruth, still retaining the letter, "is what you propose todo?"

"What else?"

She shook her head. "It must not be, Richard, " she said. "I'll notconsent to it. "

Taken aback, he stared at her; then laughed unpleasantly. "Odds my life!Are you in love with the man? Have you been fooling us?"

"No, " she answered. "But I'll be no party to his murder. "

"Murder, quotha! Who talks of murder?" Her shrewd eyes searched hisface. "How came you by your knowledge that this courier rode to Mr. Wilding?" she asked him suddenly, and the swift change that overspreadhis countenance showed her that she had touched him in a tender spot, assured her of the thing she had suddenly come to suspect--a suspicionwhich at the same time started from and explained much that had beenmysterious in Richard's ways of late. "You had knowledge of thisconspiracy, " she pursued, answering her own question before he had timeto speak, "because you were one of the conspirators. "

"At least I am so no longer, " he blurted out. "I thank Heaven for that, Richard; for your life is very dear to me. But it would ill become youto make such use as this of the knowledge you came by in that manner. It were a Judas's act. " He would have interrupted her, but her mannerdominated him. "You will leave this letter with me, Richard, " shecontinued. 

"Damn me! no... " he began. 

"Ah, yes, Richard, " she insisted. "You will give it to me, and I shallthank you for the gift. It shall prove a weapon for my salvation, neverfear. "

"It shall, indeed, " he cried, with an ugly laugh; "when I have ridden toExeter to lay it before Albemarle. "

"Not so, " she answered him. "It shall be a weapon of defence--not ofoffence. It shall stand as a buckler between me and Mr. Wilding. Trustme, I shall know how to use it. "

"But there is Blake to consider, " he expostulated, growing angry. "I ampledged to him. "

"Your first duty is to me... "

"Tut!" he interrupted. "Blake feels that he owes it to his loyalty tolay this letter before the Lord-Lieutenant, and, for that matter, so doI. "

"Sir Rowland would not cross my wishes in this, she answered him. 

"Folly!" he cried, now thoroughly aroused. "Give me that letter. "

"Nay, Richard, " she answered, and waved him back. 

But he advanced nevertheless. 

 "Give it me, " he bade her, waxing fierce. "Gad! It was folly to havetold you of it. I had not done so but that I never thought you such afool as to oppose yourself to the thing we intend. "

"Listen, Richard... " she besought him. 

But he was grown insensible to pleadings. 

"Give me that letter, " he insisted, and caught her wrist. Her otherhand, however--the one that held the sheet--was already behind her back. 

The door was suddenly thrust open, and Diana appeared. "Ruth, " sheannounced, "Mr. Wilding is here. "

At the mention of that name, Richard let her free. "Wilding!" heejaculated, his fierceness all blown out of him. He had imagined thatalready Mr. Wilding would be in full flight. Was the fellow mad?

"He is following me, " said Diana, and, indeed, a step could be heard inthe passage. 

"The letter!" growled Richard in a frenzy, between fear and anger now. "Give it me! Give it me do you hear?"

"Sh! You'll betray yourself, " she cried. "He is here. "

And at that same moment Mr. Wilding's tall figure, still arrayed in hisbridegroom's finery of sky-blue satin, loomed in the doorway. He wasserene and calm as ever. Neither the discovery of the plot by theabstraction of the messenger's letter, nor Ruth's strange conduct--ofwhich he had heard from Lord Gervase--had sufficed to ruffle, outwardlyat least, the inscrutable serenity of his air and manner. He pausedto make his bow, then advanced into the room, with a passing glance atRichard still spurred and booted and all dust-stained. 

"You appear to have ridden far, Dick, " said he, smiling, and Richardshivered in spite of himself at the mocking note that seemed to ringfaintly at the words. "I saw your friend, Sir Rowland, in the garden, "he added. "I think he waits for you. "

Though Richard could not fail to apprehend the implied dismissal, hewas minded at first to disregard it. But Mr. Wilding, turning, held thedoor, addressing Diana. 

"Mistress Horton, " said he, "will you give us leave?"

Diana curtsied and passed out, and Mr. Wilding's eye falling upon thelingering Richard at that moment, Richard thought it best to follow herexample. But he went with rage in his heart at being forced to leavethat precious document behind him. 

As Mr. Wilding, his back to her a moment, closed the door, Ruth slippedthe paper hurriedly into the bosom of her low-necked gown. He turned toher, calm but very grave, and his dark eyes seemed to reproach her. 

"This is ill done, Ruth, " said he. 

"Ill done, or well done, " she answered him, "done it is, and shall soremain. "

He raised his brows. "Ah, " said he, "I appear, then, to havemisapprehended the situation. From what Gervase told me, I understood itwas your brother forced you to return. "

"Not forced, sir, " she answered him. 

"Induced, then, " said he. "It but remains me to induce you to repairwhat I think was a mistake. "

She shook her head. "I have returned home for good, " said she. 

"You'll pardon me, " said he, "that I am so egotistical as to preferZoyland Chase to Lupton House. Despite the manifold attractions of thelatter, I do not intend to take up my abode here. "

"You are not asked to. "

"What, then?"

She hated him for the smile, for his masterful air, which seemed toimply that he humoured her because he scorned to use authority, but thatwhen he did use it, hers must it be to obey him. Again she felt thateverlasting calm, arguing such latent forces, was the thing she hatedmost in him. 

"I think I had best be plain with you, " said she. "I have fulfilled mypart of the bargain that we made. I intend to do no more. I promisedthat if you spared my brother, I would go to the altar with you to-day. I have carried out my contract to the letter. It is at an end. "

"Indeed, " said he; "I think it has not yet begun. " He advanced towardsher, and took her hand. She yielded it, unwilling though she was. "Thisis unworthy of you, madam, " said he, his tone grave and deferential. "You think to escape fulfilling the spirit of your bargain by adheringto the letter of it. Not so, " he ended, and shook his head, smilinggently. "The carriage is still at your door. You return with me toZoyland Chase to take possession of your home. "

"You mistake, " said she, and tore her hand from his. "You say that whatI have done is unworthy. I admit it; but it is with unworthiness that wemust combat unworthiness. Was your attitude towards me less unworthy?"

"I'll make amends for it if you'll come home, " said he. 

"My home is here. You cannot compel me. "

"I should be loath to, " he admitted, sighing. 

"You cannot, " she insisted. 

"I think I can, " said he. "There is a law.. "

"A law that will hang you if you invoke it, " she cut in quickly. "Thismuch can I safely promise you. "

She had need to say no more to tell him everything. At all times half aword was as much to Mr. Wilding as a whole sentence to another. She sawthe tightening of his lips, the hardening of his eyes, beyond which hegave no other sign that she had hit him. 

"I see, " said he. "It is another bargain that you make. I do suspectthere is some trader's blood in the Westmacott veins. Let us be clear. You hold the wherewithal to ruin me, and you will use it if I insistupon my husband's rights. Is it not so?"

She nodded in silence, surprised at the rapidity with which he had readthe situation. 

"I admit, " said he, "that you have me between sword and wall. " Helaughed shortly. "Let me know more, " he begged her. "Am I to understandthat so long as I leave you in peace--so long as I do not insist uponyour becoming my wife in more than name--you will not wield the weaponthat you hold?"

"You are to understand so, " she answered. 

He took a turn in the room, very thoughtful. Not of himself was hethinking now, but of the Duke of Monmouth. Trenchard had told him someugly truths that morning of how in his love-making he appeared to haveshipwrecked the Cause ere it was well launched. If this letter gotto Whitehall there was no gauging--ignorant as he was of what was init--the ruin that might follow; but they had reason to fear the worst. He saw his duty to the Duke most clearly, and he breathed a prayer ofthanks that Richard had chosen to put that letter to such a use as this. He knew himself checkmated; but he was a man who knew how to bear defeatin a becoming manner. He turned suddenly. 

"The letter is in your hands?" he inquired. 

"It is, " she answered. 

"May I see it?" he asked. 

She shook her head--not daring to show it or betray its whereabouts lesthe should use force to become possessed of it--a thing, indeed, that wasvery far from his purpose. 

He considered a moment, his mind intent now rather upon the Duke'sinterest than his own. 

"You know, " quoth he, "the desperate enterprise to which I standcommitted. But it is a bargain between us that you do not betray me northat enterprise so long as I leave you rid of my presence. 

"That is the bargain I propose, " said she. 

He looked at her a moment with hungry eyes, and she found his glancealmost more than she could bear, so strong was its appeal. Besides, it may be that she was a thought beglamoured by the danger in which hestood, which seemed to invest him with a certain heroic dignity. 

"Ruth, " he said at length, "it may well be that that which you desiremay speedily come to pass; it may well be that in the course of thisrebellion that is hatching you may be widowed. But at least I know thatif my head falls it will not be my wife who has betrayed me to the axe. For that much, believe me, I am supremely grateful. "

He advanced. He took her unresisting hand again and bore it to his lips, bowing low before her. Then erect and graceful he turned on his heel andleft her. 

CHAPTER IX. MR. TRENCHARD'S COUNTERSTROKE

Now, however much it might satisfy Mr. Wilding to have Ruth's word forit that so long as he left her in peace neither he nor the Cause had anybetrayal to fear from her, Mr. Trenchard was of a very different mind. 

He fumed and swore and worked himself into a very passion. "Zoons, man!" he cried, "it would mean utter ruin to you if that letter reachedWhitehall. "

"I realize it; but my mind is easy. I have her promise. "

"A woman's promise!" snorted Trenchard, and proceeded with greatcircumstance of expletives to damn "everything that daggled apetticoat. "

"Your fears are idle, " Wilding assured him. "What she says, she willdo. "

"And her brother?" quoth Trenchard. "Have you bethought you of thatcanary-bird? He'll know the letter's whereabouts. He has cause to fearyou more than ever now. Are you sure he'll not be making use of it tolay you by the heels?"

Mr. Wilding smiled upon the fury provoked by Trenchard's concern andlove for him. "She has promised, " he said with an insistent faith thatwas fuel to Trenchard's anger, "and I can depend her word. "

"So cannot I, " snapped his friend. 

"The thing that plagues me most, " said Wilding, ignoring the remark, "isthat we are kept in ignorance of the letter's contents at a time when wemost long for news. Not a doubt but it would have enabled us to set ourminds at ease on the score of these foolish rumours. "

"Aye--or else confirmed them, " said pessimistic Trenchard. He wagged hishead. "They say the Duke has put to sea already. "

"Folly!" Wilding protested. 

"Whitehall thinks otherwise. What of the troops at Taunton?"

"More folly. "

"Well-I would you had that letter. "

"At least, " said Wilding, "I have the superscription, and we know fromShenke that no name was mentioned in the letter itself. "

"There's evidence enough without it, " 'Trenchard reminded him, and fellsoon after into abstraction, turning over in his mind a notion withwhich he had suddenly been inspired. That notion kept Trenchard secretlyoccupied for a couple of days; but in the end he succeeded in perfectingit. 

Now it befell that towards dusk one evening early in the week RichardWestmacott went abroad alone, as was commonly his habit, his goal beingthe Saracen's Head, where he and Sir Rowland spent many a night overwine and cards--to Sir Rowland's moderate profit, for he had not playedthe pigeon in town so long without having acquired sufficient knowledgeto enable him to play the rook in the country. As Westmacott was passingup the High Street, a black shadow fell athwart the light that streamedfrom the door of the Bell Inn, and out through the doorway lurched Mr. Trenchard a thought unsteadily to hurtle so violently against Richardthat he broke the long stem of the white clay pipe he was carrying. NowRichard was not to know that Mr. Trenchard--having informed himself ofMr. Westmacott's evening habits--had been waiting for the past half-hourin that doorway hoping that Mr. Westmacott would not depart this eveningfrom his usual custom. Another thing that Mr. Westmacott was not toknow--considering his youth--was the singular histrionic ability whichthis old rake had displayed in those younger days of his when he hadbeen a player, and the further circumstance that he had excelled inthose parts in which ebriety was to be counterfeited. Indeed, we have iton the word of no less an authority on theatrical matters than Mr. Pepysthat Mr. Nicholas Trenchard's appearance as Pistol in "Henry IV" in theyear of the blessed Restoration was the talk alike of town and court. 

Mr. Trenchard steadied himself from the impact, and, swearing a roundand awful Elizabethan oath, accused the other of being drunk, thenstruck an attitude to demand with truculence, "Would ye take the wall o'me, sir?"

Richard hastened to make himself known to this turbulent roysterer, whostraightway forgot his grievance to take Westmacott affectionately bythe hand and overwhelm him with apologies. And that done, Trenchard--whoaffected the condition known as maudlin drunk--must needs protest almostin tears how profound was his love for Richard, and insist that the boyreturn with him to the Bell Inn, that they might pledge each other. 

Richard, himself sober, was contemptuous of Trenchard so obviouslyobfuscated. At first it was his impulse to excuse himself, as possiblyBlake might be already waiting for him; but on second thoughts, remembering that Trenchard was Mr. Wilding's most intimate famulus, itoccurred to him that by a little crafty questioning he might succeed insmoking Mr. Wilding's intentions in the matter of that letter--for fromhis sister he had failed to get satisfaction. So he permitted himself tobe led indoors to a table by the window which stood vacant. There wereat the time a dozen guests or so in the common-room. Trenchard bawledfor wine and brandy, and for all that he babbled in an irresponsible, foolish manner of all things that were of no matter, yet not the mostadroit of pumping could elicit from him any such information as Richardsought. Perforce young Westmacott must remain, plying him with more andmore drink--and being plied in his turn--to the end that he might notwaste the occasion. 

An hour later found Richard much the worse for wear, and Trenchardcertainly no better. Richard forgot his purpose, forgot that Blakewaited for him at the Saracen's Head. And now Trenchard seemed to bepulling himself together. 

"I want to talk to you, Richard, " said he, and although thick, there wasin his voice a certain impressive quality that had been absent hitherto. "'S a rumour current. " He lowered his voice to a whisper almost, and, leaning across, took his companion by the arm. He hiccoughed noisily, then began again. "'S a rumour current, sweetheart, that you'redisaffected. "

Richard started, and his mind flapped and struggled like a trapped birdto escape the meshes of the wine, to the end that he might convincinglydefend himself from such an imputation--so dangerously true. 

"'S a lie!" he gasped. 

Trenchard shut one eye and owlishly surveyed his companion with theother. "They say, " he added, "that you're for forsaking 'Duke's party. "

"Villainous!" Richard protested. "I'll sli' throat of any man 't saysso. " And draining the pewter at his elbow, he smashed it down on thetable to emphasize his seriousness. 

Trenchard replenished it with the utmost promptness, then sat back inhis tall chair and pulled a moment at the fresh pipe with which he hadequipped himself. 

"I think I espy, "' he quoted presently, "'virtue and valour crouchedin thine eye. ' And yet.. , and yet... If I had cause to think ittrue, I'd... I'd run you through the vitals--jus' so, " and he proddedRichard's waistcoat with the point of his pipe-stem. His swarthy facedarkened, his eyes glittered fiercely. "Are ye sure ye're norrer foultraitor?" he demanded suddenly. "Are y' sure, for if ye're not... "

He left the terrible menace unuttered, but it was none the lessunderstood. It penetrated the vinous fog that beset the brain ofRichard, and startled him. 

"'Swear I'm not!" he cried. "'Swear mos' solemnly I'm not. "

"Swear?" echoed Trenchard, and his scowl grew darker still. "Swear? Aman may swear and yet lie--'a man may smile and smile and be a villain. 'I'll have proof of your loyalty to us. I'll have proof, or as there's aheaven above and a hell below, I'll rip you up. "

His mien was terrific, and his voice the more threatening in that it wasnot raised above a whisper. 

Richard sat back appalled, afraid. 

"Wha'... What proof'll satisfy you?" he asked. 

Trenchard considered it, pulling at his pipe again. "Pledge me theDuke, " said he at length. "Ther's truth 'n wine. Pledge me the Duke andconfusion to His Majesty the goldfinch. " Richard reached for his pewter, glad that the test was to be so light. "Up on your feet, man, " grumbledTrenchard. "On your feet, and see that your words have a ring of truthin them. "

Richard did as he was bidden, the little reason left him beingconcentrated wholly on the convincing of his fellow tippler. He rose tohis feet, so unsteadily that his chair fell over with a bang. He neverheeded it, but others in the room turned at the sound, and a hush fellin the chamber. Dominating this came Richard's voice, strident withintensity, if thick of utterance. 

"Down with Popery, and God save the Protestant Duke!" he cried. "Downwith Popery!" And he looked at Trenchard for applause, and assurancethat Trenchard no longer thought there was cause to quarrel with him. 

Behind him there was a stir in the room that went unheeded by the boy. Men nudged their neighbours; some looked frightened and some grinned atthe treasonable words. 

A swift change came over Trenchard. His drunkenness fell from him likea discarded mantle. He sat like a man amazed. Then he heaved himself tohis feet in a fury, and smashed down his pipestem on the wooden table, sending its fragments flying. 

"Damn me!" he roared. "Have I sat at table with a traitor?" And hethrust at Richard with his open palm, lightly yet with sufficient forceto throw Richard off his precarious balance and send him sprawling onthe sanded floor. Men rose from the tables about and approached them, some few amused, but the majority very grave. Dodsley, the landlord, came hurrying to assist Richard to his feet. 

"Mr. Westmacott, " he whispered in the rash fool's ear, "you were bestaway. "

Richard stood up, leaning his full weight upon the arm the landlord hadabout his waist. He passed a hand over his brow, as if to brush asidethe veil that obscured his wits. What had happened? What had he said?What had Trenchard done? Why did these fellows stand and gape at him? Heheard his companion's voice, raised to address the company. 

"Gentlemen, " he heard him say, "I trust there is none present willimpute to me any share in such treasonable sentiments as Mr. Westmacotthas expressed. But if there is any who questions my loyalty, I havea convincing argument for him--in my scabbard. " And he struck hissword-hilt with his fist. 

Then he clapped on his hat, aslant over the locks of his golden wig, and, taking up his whip, he moved with leisurely dignity towards thedoor. He looked back with a sardonic smile at the ado he was leavingbehind him, listened a moment to the voices that already were beingraised in excitement, then closed the door and made his way brisklyto the stable-yard, where he called for his horse. He rode out ofBridgwater ten minutes later, and took the road to Taunton as the moonwas rising big and yellow over the hills on his left. He reached Tauntontowards ten o'clock that night, having ridden hell-to-leather. Hisfirst visit was to the Hare and Hounds, where Blake and Westmacott hadovertaken the courier. His next to the house where Sir Edward Phelipsand Colonel Luttrell--the gentlemen lately ordered to Taunton by HisMajesty--had their lodging. 

The fruits of Mr. Trenchard's extraordinary behaviour that night wereto be seen at an early hour on the following day, when a constable andthree tything-men came with a Lord-Lieutenant's warrant to arrest Mr. Richard Westmacott on a charge of high treason. They found the young manstill abed, and most guilty was his panic when they bade him rise anddress himself--though little did he dream of the full extent to whichMr. Trenchard had enmeshed him, or indeed that Mr. Trenchard had anyhand at all in this affair. What time he was getting into his clotheswith a tything-man outside his door and another on guard under hiswindow, the constable and his third myrmidon made an exhaustive searchof the house. All they found of interest was a letter signed "Monmouth, "which they took from the secret drawer of a secretary in the library;but that, it seemed, was all they sought, for having found it, theyproceeded no further with their reckless and destructive ransacking. 

With that letter and the person of Richard Westmacott, the constable andhis men took their departure, and rode back to Taunton, leaving alarmand sore distress at Lupton House. In her despair poor Ruth was all forfollowing her brother, in the hope that at least by giving evidenceof how that letter came into his possession she might do something toassist him. But knowing, as she did, that he had had his share in thetreason that was hatching, she had cause to fear that his guilt wouldnot lack for other proofs. It was Diana who urged her to repair insteadto the only man upon whose resource she might depend, provided he werewilling to exert it. That man was Anthony Wilding, and whether Dianaurged it from motives of her own or out of concern for Richard, it wouldbe difficult to say with certainty. 

The very thought of going to him for aid, after all that had passed, wasrepugnant to Ruth. And yet what choice had she? Convinced by her cousinand urged by her affection and duty to Richard, she repressed heraversion, and, calling for a horse, rode out to Zoyland Chase, attendedby a groom. Wilding by good fortune was at home, hard at work upon amass of documents in that same library where she had talked with him onthe occasion of her first visit to his home--to the home of which sheremembered that she was now, herself, the mistress. He was preparingfor circulation in the West a mass of libels and incendiary pamphletscalculated to forward the cause of the Protestant Duke. 

Dissembling his surprise, he bade old Walters--who left her waiting inthe hall whilst he went to announce her--to admit her instantly, and headvanced to the door to receive and welcome her. 

"Ruth, " said he, and his face was oddly alight, "you have come at last. "

She smiled a wan smile of self-pity. "I have been constrained, " saidshe, and told him what had happened; that her brother had been arrestedfor high treason, and that the constable in searching the house had comeupon the Monmouth letter she had locked away in her desk. 

"And not a doubt, " she ended, "but it will be believed that it was toRichard the letter was indited by the Duke. You will remember thatits only address was 'to my good friend, W. , ' and that will stand forWestmacott as well as Wilding. "

Mr. Wilding was fain to laugh at the irony of this surprising turn ofthings of which she brought him news; for he had neither knowledge norsuspicion of the machinations of his friend Trenchard, to which theseevents were due. But noting and respecting her anxiety for her brother, he curbed his natural amusement. 

"It is a judgment upon you, " said he, nevertheless. 

"Do you exult?" she asked indignantly. 

"No; but I cannot repress my admiration for the ways of Divine Justice. If you are come to me for advice, I can but suggest that you shouldfollow your brother's captors to Taunton, and inform the lieutenants ofhow the letter came into your power. "

She looked at him in anger almost at what seemed a callousness. "Wouldhe believe me, think you?"

"Belike he would not, " said Mr. Wilding. "You can but try. "

"If I told them it was addressed to you, " she said, eyeing him sternly, "does it not occur to you that they would send for you to question you, and that if they did so, as you are a gentleman you could not lie awaymy brother's life. "

"Why, yes, " said he quite calmly, "it does occur to me. But does it notoccur to you that by the time they came here they would find me gone?"He laughed at her dismay. "I thank you, madam, for this warning, " headded. "I think I'll bid them saddle for me without delay. Too longalready have I tarried. "

"And must Richard hang?" she asked him fiercely. 

Mr. Wilding produced a snuffbox of tortoise shell and gold. He opened itdeliberately. "If he does, you'll admit that he will hang on the gallowsthat he has built himself--although intended for another. I'faith! He'snot the first booby to be caught in his own springe. There is in this ameasure of poetic justice. Poetry and justice! Do you know, Ruth, they are two things I have ever loved?" And he took a pinch of choiceBergamot. 

"Will you be serious?" she demanded. 

"Trenchard would tell you that it were to make an exception from therule of my life, " he assured her, smiling. "Yet even that might I do atyour bidding. "

"But this is a serious matter, " she told him angrily. "For Richard, " heacknowledged, closing his snuffbox with a snap. "Tell me, what would youhave me do?"

Since he asked her thus, she answered him in two words. "Save him. "

"At the cost of my own neck?" quoth he. "The price is high, " he remindedher. "Do you think that Richard is quite worth it?"

"And are you to save yourself at the cost of his?" shecounter-questioned. "Are you capable of such a baseness?"

He looked at her thoughtfully a moment. "You have not reflected, " saidhe slowly, "that in this affair is involved more than mine or Richard'slife. There is a great cause weighing in the balance against allpersonal considerations. If I accounted Richard of more value toMonmouth than I am myself, I should not hesitate in riding to sethim free by taking his place. As it is, however, I think I am of thegreatest conceivable importance to His Grace, whilst if twenty Richardsperished--frankly--their loss would be something of a gain, for Richardhas played a traitor's part already. That is with me the first of allconsiderations. "

"Am I of no consideration to you?" she asked him. And in an agony ofterror for her brother she now approached him, and, obeying a suddenimpulse, cast herself upon her knees before him. "Listen!" she cried. 

"Not thus, " said he, a frown between his eyes. He took her by the elbowsand gently but very firmly brought her to her feet again. "It is notfitting you should kneel save at your prayers. "

She was standing now, and very close to him, his hands still held herelbows, though their touch was so light that she scarce felt it. To release them was easy, and the next second her hands were on hisshoulders, her brave eyes raised to him. 

"Mr. Wilding, " she implored him, "you'll not let Richard be destroyed?"

He looked down at her with kindling glance, his arms slipped round herlissom waist. "It is hard to deny you, Ruth, " said he. "Yet not my loveof my own life compels me; but my duty, my loyalty to the cause to whichI am pledged. I were a traitor were I now to place myself in peril. "

She pressed against him, her face so close to his that her breath fannedhis cheek, whither a faint colour crept in quick response. Despiteherself almost, instinctively, unconsciously, she exerted the weapons ofher sex to bend him to her will. 

"You say you love me, " she whispered. "Prove it me now, and I willbelieve you. 

"Ah!" he sighed. "And believing me? What then?"

He had himself grimly in hand, yet feared he should not prove strongenough to hold himself for long. 

"You.. , you shall find me your... Dutiful wife, " she faltered, crimsoning. 

His arms tightened about her; he crushed her to him, he bent his head tohers and his lips burnt the lips she yielded to him as though they hadbeen living fire. 

Anon, she was to weep in shame--in shame and in astonishment--at thatinstant of surrender, but for the moment she had no thought save for herbrother. Exultation filled her. She accounted that she had conquered, and she gloried in the power her beauty gave her, a power that hadsufficed to melt to water the hard-frozen purposes of this self-willedman. The next instant, however, she was cold again with dismay andnewborn terror. He unclasped her arms, he drew back, shaking off thehands she had rested upon his shoulders. His white face--the flush hadfaded from it again--smiled a thought disdainfully. 

"You bargain with me, " he said. "But I have some knowledge of your waysof trading. They are overshrewd for an honest gentleman. "

"You mean, " she gasped, her hand pressed to her heart, her face adeathly white, "you mean that you'll not save him?"

"I mean, " said he, "that I will have no further bargains with you. "

There was such hard finality in his tone that she recoiled, beaten andwithout power, to return to the assault. She had played and lost. Shehad yielded her lips to his kisses, and--husband though he might be inname--shame was her only guerdon. 

One look she gave him from out of that face so white and pitiful, thenwith a shudder turned from him and fled his presence. He sprang afterher as the door closed, then checked and stood in thought, very grim forone who professed to bestow no seriousness on the affairs of life. Thenhe returned slowly to his writing-table, and rummaged there among thepapers with which it was encumbered, seeking something of which he nowhad need. Through the open window he heard the retreating beat of herhorse's hoofs. He sighed and sat down heavily, to take his long squarechin in his hand and stare before him at the sunlight on the lawnoutside. 

And whilst he sat thus, Ruth made all haste back to Lupton House to tellof the failure that had attended her. There was nothing left her nowbut to embark upon the forlorn hope of following Richard to Taunton, tooffer her evidence of how the incriminating letter had come to be lockedin the drawer in which the constable had discovered it. Diana met herwith a face as white as her own and infinitely more startled. She hadjust learnt that Sir Rowland Blake had been arrested also and thathe had been carried to Taunton together with Richard, and, as aconsequence, she was as eager now that Ruth should repair to Albemarleas she had erstwhile been earnest in urging her to seek out Mr. Wilding;indeed, Diana went so far as to offer to accompany her, an offer thatRuth gladly, gratefully accepted. 

Within an hour Ruth and Diana--in spite of all that poor, docile LadyHorton had said to stay them--were riding to Taunton, attended by thesame groom who had so lately accompanied his mistress to Zoyland Chase. 

CHAPTER X. THEIR OWN PETARD

In a lofty, spacious room of the town hall at Taunton sat Sir EdwardPhelips and Colonel Luttrell to dispense justice, and with them, flankedby one of them on either side of him, sat Christopher Monk, Duke ofAlbemarle, Lord-Lieutenant of Devonshire, who had been summoned inall haste from Exeter that he might be present at an examination whichpromised to be of so vast importance. The three sat at a long table atthe room's end, attended by two secretaries. 

Before them, guarded by constable and tything-men, weaponless, theirhands pinioned behind them--Blake's arm was healed by now--stood Mr. Westmacott and his friend Sir Rowland to answer this grave charge. 

Richard, not knowing who might have betrayed him and to what extent, wasvery fearful--having through his connection with the Cause every reasonso to be. Blake, on the other hand, conscious of his innocence of anyplotting, was impatient of his position, and a thought contemptuous. It was he who, upon being ushered by the constable and his men into theaugust presence of the Lord-Lieutenant, clamoured to know precisely ofwhat he was accused that he might straightway clear himself. 

Albemarle reared his great massive head, smothered in a mighty blackperuke, and scowled upon the florid London beau. A black-visagedgentleman was Christopher Monk. His pendulous cheeks, it is true, wereof a sallow pallor, but what with his black wig, black eyebrows, darkeyes, and the blue-black tint of shaven beard on his great jaw and upperlip, he presented an appearance sombrely sinister. His netherlip wasthick and very prominent; deep creases ran from the corners of his mouthadown his heavy chin; his eyes were dull and lack-lustre, with greatpouches under them. In the main, the air of this son of the greatParliamentarian general was stupid, dull, unprepossessing. 

The creases of his mouth deepened as Blake protested against what hetermed this outrage that had been done him; he sneered ponderously, thrusting further forward his heavily undershot jowl. 

"We are informed, sir, of your antecedents, " he staggered Blake byanswering. "We have learnt the reason why you left London and yourcreditors, and in all my life, sir, I have never known a man more readyto turn his hand to treason than a broken gamester. Your kind turns byinstinct to such work as this, as a last resource for the mending ofbattered fortunes. "

Blake crimsoned from chin to brow. "I'm forejudged, it, seems, " he madeanswer haughtily, tossing his fair locks, his blue eyes glaring upon hisjudges. "May I, at least, know the name of my accuser?"

"You shall receive impartial justice at our hands, " put in Phelips, whose manner was of a dangerous mildness. "Depend on that. Not onlyshall you know the name of your accuser, but you shall be confronted byhim. Meanwhile, sirs"--and his glance strayed from Blake's flushed andangry countenance to Richard's, pale and timid--"meanwhile, are we tounderstand that you deny the charge?"

"I have heard none as yet, " said Sir Rowland insolently. 

Albemarle turned to one of the secretaries. "Read them the indictment, "said he, and sank back in his chair, his dull glance upon the prisoners, whilst the clerk in a droning voice read from a document which he tookup. It impeached Sir Rowland Blake and Mr. Richard Westmacott of holdingtreasonable communication with James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, and ofplotting against His Majesty's life and throne and the peace of HisMajesty's realms. 

Blake listened with unconcealed impatience to the farrago of legalphrases, and snorted contemptuously when the reading came to an end. 

Albemarle looked at him darkly. "I do thank God, " said he, "that throughMr. Westmacott's folly has this hideous plot, this black and damnabletreason, been brought to light in time to enable us to stamp out thisfire ere it is well kindled. Have you aught to say, sir?"

"I have to say that the whole charge a foul and unfounded lie, " said SirRowland bluntly: "I never plotted in my life against anything but my ownprosperity, nor against any man but myself. "

Albemarle smiled coldly at his colleagues, then turned to Westmacott. "And you, sir?" he said. "Are you as stubborn as your friend?"

"I incontinently deny the charge, " said Richard, and he contrived thathis voice should ring bold and resolute. 

"A charge built on air, " sneered Blake, "which the first breath of truthshould utterly dispel. We have heard the impeachment. Will Your Gracewith the same consideration permit us to see the proofs that we may laybare their falseness? It should not be difficult. "

"Do you say there is no such plot as is here alleged?" quoth the Duke, and smote a paper sharply. 

Blake shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know?" he asked. "I say Ihave no share in any, that I am acquainted with none. "

"Call Mr. Trenchard, " said the Duke quietly, and an usher who had stoodtamely by the door at the far end of the room departed on the errand. 

Richard started at the mention of that name. He had a singular dread ofMr. Trenchard. 

Colonel Luttrell--lean and wiry--now addressed the prisoners, Blake moreparticularly. "Still, " said he, "you will admit that such a plot may, indeed, exist?"

"It may, indeed, for aught I know--or care, " he added incautiously. 

Albemarle smote the table with a heavy hand. "By God!" he cried in thatdeep booming voice of his, "there spoke a traitor! You do not care, yousay, what plots may be hatched against His Majesty's life and crown! Yetyou ask me to believe you a true and loyal subject. "

Blake was angered; he was at best a short-tempered man. Deliberately hefloundered further into the mire. 

"I have not asked Your Grace to believe me anything, " he answered hotly. "It is all one to me what Your Grace believes me. I take it I have notbeen fetched hither to be confronted with what Your Grace believes. Youhave preferred a lying charge against me; I ask for proofs, not YourGrace's beliefs and opinions. "

"By God, sir, you are a daring rogue!" cried Albemarle. 

Sir Rowland's eyes blazed. "Anon, Your Grace, when, having failed ofyour proofs, you shall be constrained to restore me to liberty, I shallask Your Grace to unsay that word. "

Albemarle stared, confounded, and in that moment the door opened, andTrenchard sauntered in, cane in hand, his hat under his arm, a wickedsmile on his wizened face. 

Leaving Blake's veiled threat unanswered, the Duke turned to the oldrake. "These rogues, " said he, pointing to the prisoners, "demand proofsere they will admit the truth of the impeachment. "

"Those proofs, " said Trenchard, "are already in Your Grace's hands. "

"Aye, but they have asked to be confronted with their accuser. "

Trenchard bowed. "Is it your wish, then, that I recite for them thecounts on which I have based the accusation I laid before Your Grace?"

"If you will condescend so far, " said Albemarle. 

"Blister me... !" roared Blake, when the Duke interrupted him. 

"By God, sir!" he cried, "I'll have no such disrespectful language here. You'll observe the decency of speech and forbear from profanities, youdamned rogue, or by God! I'll commit you forthwith. "

"I will endeavour, " said Blake, with a sarcasm lost on Albemarle, "tofollow Your Grace's lofty example. "

"You will do well, sir, " said the Duke, and was shocked that Trenchardshould laugh at such a moment. 

"I was about to protest, sir, " said Blake, "that it is monstrousI should be accused by Mr. Trenchard. He has but the slightestacquaintance with me. "

Trenchard bowed to him across the chamber. "Admitted, sir, " saidhe. "What should I be doing in bad company?" An answer this that setAlbemarle bawling with laughter. Trenchard turned to the Duke. "I willbegin, an it please Your Grace, with the expressions used last night inmy presence at the Bell Inn at Bridgwater by Mr. Richard Westmacott, andI will confine myself strictly to those matters on which my testimonycan be corroborated by that of other witnesses. "

Colonel Luttrell interrupted him to turn to Richard. "Do you recallthose expressions, sir?" he asked him. 

Richard winced under the question. Nevertheless, he braced himself tomake the best defence he could. "I have not yet heard, " said he, "whatthose expressions were; nor when I hear them must it follow that Irecognize them as my own. I must admit to having taken more wine, perhaps, than... Than... " Whilst he sought the expression that he neededTrenchard cut in with a laugh. "In vino veritas, gentlemen, " andHis Grace and Sir Edward nodded sagely; Luttrell preserved a stolidexterior. He seemed less prone than his colleagues to forejudging. 

"Will you repeat the expressions used by Mr. Westmacott?" Sir Edwardbegged. 

"I will repeat the one that, to my mind, matters most. " Mr. Westmacott, getting to his feet and in a loud voice, exclaimed, "God save theProtestant Duke!"

"Do you admit it, sir?" thundered Albemarle, his eyes glowering uponRichard hesitated a moment, pale and trembling. 

"You will waste breath in denying it, " said Trenchard suavely, "for Ihave a drawer from the Bell Inn, and two gentlemen who overheard youwaiting outside. "

"I'faith, sir, " cried Blake, "what treason was therein that? If he... "

"Silence!" thundered Albemarle. "Let Mr. Westmacott speak for himself. "

Richard, inspired by the defence Blake had begun, took the same line ofargument. "I admit that in the heat of wine I may have used such words, "said he. "But I deny their intent to be treasonable. There are many menwho drink to the prosperity of the late Kings's son... "

"Natural son, sir; natural son, " Albemarle amended. "It is treason tospeak of him otherwise. "

"It will be a treason presently to draw breath, " sneered Blake. 

"If it be, " said Trenchard, "it is a treason you'll not be longcommitting. "

"Faith, you are right, Mr. Trenchard, " said the Duke with a laugh. Indeed, he found Mr. Trenchard a most pleasant and facetious gentleman. 

"Still, " insisted Richard, endeavouring in spite of these irrelevanciesto make good his point, "there be many men who drink daily to theprosperity of the late King's natural son. "

"Aye, sir, " answered Albemarle; "but not his prosperity in horrid plotsagainst the life of our beloved sovereign. "

"True, Your Grace; very true, " purred Sir Edward. "It was not so I meantto toast him, " cried Richard. Albemarle made an impatient gesture, and took up a sheet of paper. "How, then, " he asked, "comes thisletter--this letter which makes plain the treason upon which the Dukeof Monmouth is embarked, just as it makes plain your participation init--how comes this letter to be found in your possession?" And he wavedthe letter in the air. 

Richard went the colour of ashes. He faltered a moment, then took refugein the truth, for all that he knew beforehand that the truth was boundto ring more false than any lie he could invent. 

"That letter was not addressed to me, " he stammered. 

Albemarle read the subscription, "To my good friend W. , at Bridgwater. "He looked up, a heavy sneer thrusting his heavy lip still further out. "What do you say to that? Does not 'W' stand for Westmacott?"

"It does not. "

"Of course not, " said Albemarle with heavy sarcasm. "It stands forWilkins, or Williams, or... Or... What-not. "

"Indeed, I can bear witness that it does not, " exclaimed Sir Rowland. 

"Be silent, sir, I tell you!" bawled the Duke at him again. "You shallbear witness soon enough, I promise you. To whom, then, " he resumed, turning again to Richard, "do you say that this letter was addressed?"

"To Mr. Wilding--Mr. Anthony Wilding, " Richard answered. 

"I would have Your Grace to observe, " put in Trench ard quietly, "thatMr. Wilding, properly speaking, does not reside in Bridgwater. "

"Tush!" cried Albemarle; "the rogue but mentions the first name with a'W' that occurs to him. He's not even an ingenious liar. And how, sir, "he asked Richard, "does it come to be in your possession, having beenaddressed, as you say, to Mr. Wilding?"

"Aye, sir, " said Sir Edward, blinking his weak eyes. "Tell us that. "

Richard hesitated again, and looked at Blake. Blake, who by now hadcome to realize that his friend's affairs were not mended by hisinterruptions, moodily shrugged his shoulders, scowling. 

"Come, sir, " said Colonel Luttrell, engagingly, "answer the question. "

"Aye, " roared Albemarle; "let your invention have free rein. "

Again poor Richard sought refuge in the truth. "We--Sir Rowland here andI--had reason to suspect that he was awaiting such a letter. "

"Tell us your reasons, sir, if we are to credit you, " said the Duke, andit was plain he mocked the prisoner. It was, moreover, a request thatstaggered Richard. Still, he sought to find a reason that should soundplausible. 

"We inferred it from certain remarks that Mr. Wilding let fall in ourpresence. "

"Tell us the remarks, sir, " the Duke insisted. 

"Indeed, I do not call his precise words to mind, Your Grace. But theywere such that we suspicioned him. "

"And you would have me believe that hearing words which awoke in yousuch grave suspicions, you kept your suspicions and straightway forgotthe words. You're but an indifferent liar. "

Trenchard, who was standing by the long table, leaned forward now. 

"It might be well, an it please Your Grace, " said he, "to waive thepoint, and let us come to those matters which are of greater moment. Lethim tell Your Grace how he came by the letter. "

"Aye, " said Albemarle. "We do but waste time. Tell us, then, how camethe letter into your hands?"

"With Sir Rowland, here, I robbed the courier as he was riding fromTaunton to Bridgwater. "

Albemarle laughed, and Sir Edward smiled. "You robbed him, eh?" said HisGrace. "Very well. But how did it happen that you knew he had the letterupon him, or was it that you were playing the hightobymen, and that inrobbing him you hoped to find other matters?"

"Not so, sir, " answered Richard. "I sought but the letter. "

"And how knew you that he carried it? Did you learn that, too, from Mr. Wilding's indiscretion?"

"Your Grace has said it. "

"'Slife! What an impudent rogue have we here!" cried the angry Duke, who conceived that Richard was purposely dealing in effrontery. "Mr. Trenchard, I do think we are wasting time. Be so good as to confoundthem both with the truth of this matter. "

"That letter, " said Trenchard, "was delivered to them at the Hare andHounds, here at Taunton, by a gentleman who put up at the inn, and wasthere joined by Mr. Westmacott and Sir Rowland Blake. They openedthe conversation with certain cant phrases very clearly intended aspasswords. Thus: the prisoners said to the messenger, as they seatedthemselves at the table he occupied, 'You have the air, sir, of beingfrom overseas, ' to which the courier answered, 'Indeed, yes. I am fromHolland. 'From the land of Orange, ' says one of the prisoners. 'Aye, andother things, ' replies the messenger. 'There is a fair wind blowing, ' headds; to which one of the prisoners, I believe it was Sir Rowland, makesanswer, 'Mayit prosper the Protestant Duke and blow Popery to hell. 'Thereupon the landlord caught some mention of a letter, but theseplotters, perceiving that they were perhaps being overheard, sent himaway to fetch them wine. A half-hour later the messenger took his leave, and the prisoners followed a very few minutes afterwards. "

Albemarle turned to the prisoners. "You have heard Mr. Trenchard'sstory. How do you say--is it true or untrue?"

"You will waste breath in denying it, " Trenchard took it again uponhimself to admonish them. "For I have with me the landlord of the Hareand Hounds, who will corroborate, upon oath, what I have said. "

"We do not deny it, " put in Blake. "But we submit that the matter issusceptible to explanation. "

"You can keep your explanations till your trial, then, " snappedAlbemarle. "I have heard more than enough to commit the pair of you togaol. "

"But, Your Grace, " cried Sir Rowland, so fiercely that one of thetything-men set a restraining hand upon his shoulder, "I am ready toswear that what I did, and what my friend Mr. Westmacott did, was donein the interests of His Majesty. We were working to discover this plot. "

"Which, no doubt, " put in Trenchard slyly, "is the reason why, havinggot the letter, your friend Mr. Westmacott locked it in a desk, and youkept silence on the matter. "

"You see, " exclaimed Albemarle, "how your lies do but serve further tobind you in the toils. It is ever thus with traitors. "

"I do think you are a damned traitor, Trenchard, " began Blake; "afoul... "

But what more he would have said was checked by Albemarle, who thunderedforth an order for their removal, and then, scarce were the wordsuttered than the door at the far end of the hall was opened, and throughit came a sound of women's voices. Richard started, for one was thevoice of Ruth. 

An usher advanced. "May it please Your Grace, there are two ladies herebeg that you will hear their evidence in the matter of Mr. Westmacottand Sir Rowland Blake. "

Albemarle considered a moment. Trenchard stood very thoughtful. 

"Indeed, " said the Duke, at last, "I have heard as much as I need hear, "and Sir Phelips nodded in token of concurrence. 

Not so, however, Colonel Luttrell. "Still, " said he, "in the interestsof His Majesty, perhaps, we should be doing well to receive them. "

Albemarle blew out his cheeks like a man wearied, and stared an instantat Luttrell. Then he shrugged his shoulders. 

"Admit them, then, " he commanded almost peevishly, and Ruth and Dianawere ushered into the hall. Both were pale, but whilst Diana wasfluttered with excitement, Ruth was calm and cool, and it was she whospoke in answer to the Duke's invitation. The burden of her speech wasa clear, succinct recitation--in which she spared neither Wildingnor herself--of how the letter came to have remained in her hands andsilence to have been preserved regarding it. Albemarle heard her verypatiently. 

"If what you say is true, mistress, " said he, "and God forbid thatI should be so ungallant as to throw doubt upon a lady's word, itcertainly explains--although most strangely--how the letter was notbrought to us at once by your brother and his friend Sir Rowland. Youare prepared to swear that this letter was intended for Mr. Wilding?"

"I am prepared to swear it, " she replied. 

"This is very serious, " said the Duke. 

"Very serious, " assented Sir Edward Phelips. 

Albemarle, a little flustered, turned to his colleagues. "What do yousay to this? Were it perhaps well to order Mr. Wilding's apprehension, and to have him brought hither?"

"It were to give yourselves useless trouble, gentlemen, " said Trenchard, with so much assurance that it was plain Albemarle hesitated. 

"Beware of Mr. Trenchard, Your Grace, " cried Ruth. "He is Mr. Wilding'sfriend, and if there is a plot he is sure to be in it. "

Albemarle, startled, looked at Trenchard. Had the accusation come fromeither of the men the Duke would have silenced him and abused him;but coming from a woman, and so comely a woman, it seemed to His Graceworthy at least of consideration. But nimble Mr. Trenchard was easilymaster of the situation. 

"Which, of course, " he answered, with fine sarcasm, "is the reason whyI have been at work for the past four-and-twenty hours to lay proofs ofthis plot before Your Grace. "

Albemarle was ashamed of his momentary hesitation. 

 "For the rest, " said Trenchard, "it is perfectly true that I amMr. Wilding's friend. But the lady is even more intimately connectedwith him. It happens that she is his wife. "

"His... His wife!" gasped the Duke, whilst Phelips chuckled, and ColonelLuttrell's face grew dark. 

Trenchard's wicked smile flickered upon his mobile features. "There arerumours current of court paid her by Sir Rowland, there. Who knows?" hequestioned most suggestively, arching his brows and tightening his lips. "Wives are strange kittle-kattle, and husbands have been known before togrow inconvenient. Upon reflection, Your Grace will no doubt discern theprecise degree of faith to attach to what this lady may tell you againstMr. Wilding. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Ruth, her cheeks flaming crimson. "But this ismonstrous!"

"Tis how I should myself describe it, " answered Trenchard without shame. 

Spurred to it thus, Ruth poured out the entire story of her marriage, and so clear and lucid was her statement that it threw upon the affair aflood of light, whilst so frank and truthful was her tone, her narrativehung so well together, that the Bench began to recover from the shock toits faith, and was again in danger of believing her. Trenchard saw thisand trembled. To save Wilding for the Cause he had resorted to thisdesperate expedient of betraying that Cause. It must be observed, however, that he had not done so save under the conviction that betrayedit was bound to be, and that since that was inevitable the thing hadbetter come from him--for Wilding's sake--than from Richard Westmacott. He had taken the bull by the horns in a most desperate fashion when hehad determined to hoist Richard and Blake with their own petard, hopingthat, after all, the harm would reach no further than the destruction ofthese two--a purely defensive measure. But now this girl threatenedto wreck his scheme just as it was being safely steered to harbour. Suddenly he swung round, interrupting her. 

"Lies, lies, lies!" he clamoured, and his interruption coming at such atime served to impress the Duke most unfavourably--as well it might. 

"It is our wish to hear this lady out, Mr. Trenchard, " the Duke reprovedhim. 

But Mr. Trenchard was undismayed. Indeed, he had just discovered ahitherto neglected card, which should put an end to this dangerous game. 

"I do abhor to hear Your Grace's patience thus abused, " he exclaimedwith some show of heat. "This lady makes a mock of you. If you'll allowme to ask two questions--or perhaps three--I'll promise finally to prickthis bubble for you. Have I Your Grace's leave?"

"Well, well, " said Albemarle. "Let us hear your questions. " And hiscolleagues nodded. 

Trenchard turned airily to Ruth. Behind her Diana sat--an attendant hadfetched a chair for her--in fear and wonder at what she saw and heard, her eyes ever and anon straying to Sir Rowland's back, which was towardsher. 

"This letter, madam, " said he, "for the possession of which you haveaccounted in so... So... Picturesque a manner, was intended for andaddressed to Mr. Wilding, you say. And you are prepared to swear to it?"

Ruth turned indignantly to the Bench. "Must I answer this man'squestions?" she demanded. 

"I think, perhaps, it were best you did, " said the Duke, still showingher all deference. 

She turned to Trenchard, her head high, her eyes full upon his wrinkled, cynical face. "I swear, then... " she began, but he--consummate actorthat he was and versed in tricks that impress an audience--interruptedher, raising one of his gnarled, yellow hands. 

"Nay, nay, " said he. "I would not have perjury proved against you. I donot ask you to swear. It will be sufficient if you pronounce yourselfprepared to swear. "

She pouted her lip a trifle, her whole expression manifesting hercontempt of him. "I am in no fear of perjuring myself, " she answeredfearlessly. "And I swear that the letter in question was addressed toMr. Wilding. "

"As you will, " said Trenchard, and was careful not to ask her how shecame by her knowledge. "The letter, no doubt, was in an outer wrapper, on which there would be a superscription--the name of the person to whomthe letter was addressed?" he half questioned, and Luttrell, who saw thedrift of the question, nodded gravely. 

"No doubt, " said Ruth. 

"Now you will acknowledge, I am sure, madam, that such a wrapper wouldbe a document of the greatest importance, as important, indeed, as theletter itself, since we could depend upon it finally to clear up thispoint on which we differ. You will admit so much, I think?"

"Why, yes, " she answered, but her voice faltered a little, and herglance was not quite so fearless. She, too, saw at last the pit he haddug for her. He leaned forward, smiling quietly, his voice impressivelysubdued, and launched the bolt that was to annihilate the credibility ofthe story she had told. 

"Can you, then, explain how it comes that that wrapper has beensuppressed? Can you tell us how--the matter being as you state it--invery self-defence against the dangers of keeping such a letter, yourbrother did not also keep that wrapper?"

Her eyes fell away from his face, they turned to Albemarle, who satscowling again, and from him they flickered unsteadily to Phelips andLuttrell, and lastly, to Richard, who, very white and with set teeth, stood listening to the working of his ruin. 

"I... I do not know, " she faltered at last. 

"Ah!" said Trenchard, drawing a deep breath. He turned to the Bench. "Need I suggest what was the need--the urgent need--for suppressing thatwrapper?" quoth he. "Need I say what name was inscribed upon it? I thinknot. Your Grace's keen insight, and yours, gentlemen, will determinewhat was probable. "

Sir Rowland now stood forward, addressing Albemarle. "Will Your Gracepermit me to offer my explanation of this?"

Albemarle banged the table. His patience was at an end, since he camenow to believe--as Trenchard had earlier suggested--that he had beenplayed upon by Ruth. 

"Too many explanations have I heard already, sir, " he answered. Heturned to one of his secretaries. In his sudden access of choler heforgot his colleagues altogether. "The prisoners are committed fortrial, " said he harshly, and Trenchard breathed freely at last. But thenext instant he caught his breath again, for a ringing voice was heardwithout demanding to see His Grace of Albemarle at once, and the voicewas the voice of Anthony Wilding. 

CHAPTER XI. THE MARPLOT

Mr. Wilding's appearance produced as many different emotions as therewere individuals present. He made the company a sweeping bow on hisadmission by Albemarle's orders, a bow which was returned by a starefrom one and all. Diana eyed him in amazement, Ruth in hope; Richardaverted his glance from that of his brother-in-law, whilst Sir Rowlandmet it with a scowl of enmity--they had not come face to face since theoccasion of that encounter in which Sir Rowland's self-love had been sorudely handled. Albemarle's face expressed a sort of satisfaction, which was reflected on the countenances of Phelips and Luttrell; whilstTrenchard never thought of attempting to dissemble his profound dismay. And this dismay was shared, though not in so deep a measure, by Wildinghimself. Trenchard's presence gave him pause; for he had been far, indeed, from dreaming that his friend had a hand in this affair. Atsight of him all was made clear to Mr. Wilding. At once he saw the rolewhich Trenchard had assumed on this occasion, saw to the bottom of themotives that had inspired him to take the bull by the horns and levelagainst Richard and Blake this accusation before they had leisure tolevel it against himself. 

His quick wits having fathomed Trenchard's motive, Mr. Wilding wasdeeply touched by this proof of friendship, and for a second, as deeplynonplussed, at loss now how to discharge the task on which he came. 

"You are very choicely come, Mr. Wilding, " said Albemarle. "You will beable to resolve me certain doubts which have been set on foot by thesetraitors. "

"That, " said Mr. Wilding, "is the purpose for which I am here. Newsreached me of the arrest that had been made. May I beg that Your Gracewill place me in possession of the facts that have so far transpired. "

It was one of his secretaries who, at Albemarle's bidding, gave Wildingthe information that he craved. He listened gravely; then, beforeAlbemarle had time to question him on the score of the name that mighthave been upon the enfolding wrapper of the letter, he begged that hemight confer apart a moment with Mr. Trenchard. 

"But Mr. Wilding, " said Colonel Luttrell, surprised not to hear theimmediate denial of the imputation they had expected, "we should firstlike to hear... "

"By your leave, sirs, " Wilding interrupted, "I should prefer thatyou ask me nothing until I have consulted with Mr. Trenchard. " He sawLuttrell's frown, observed Sir Edward shift his wig to scratch his headin sheer perplexity, and caught the fore-shadowing of denial on theDuke's face. So, without giving any of them time to say him nay, headded quickly and very seriously, "I am begging this in the interests ofjustice. Your Grace has told me that some lingering doubt still hauntsyour mind upon the subject of this letter--the other charges can matterlittle, apart from that treasonable document. It lies within my power toresolve such doubts most clearly and finally. But I warn you, sirs, thatnot one word will I utter in this connection until I have had speechwith Mr. Trenchard. "

There was about his mien and voice a firmness that forewarned Albemarlethat to insist would be worse than idle. A slight pause followed hiswords, and Luttrell leaned across to whisper in His Grace's ear; fromthe Duke's other side Sir Edward bent his head forward till it almosttouched those of his companions. Blake watched, and was most foolishlyimpatient. 

"Your Grace will never allow this!" he cried. 

"Eh?" said Albemarle, scowling at him. 

"If you allow those two villains to consort together we are all undone, "the baronet protested, and ruined what chance there was of Albemarle'snot consenting. 

It was the one thing needed to determine Albemarle. Like the stubbornman he was, there was naught he detested so much as to have his coursedictated to him. More than that, in Sir Rowland's anxiety that Wildingand Trenchard should not be allowed to confer apart, he smoked a fearon Sir Rowland's part, based upon the baronet's consciousness of his ownguilt. He turned from him with a sneering smile, and without so muchas consulting his associates he glanced at Wilding and waved his handtowards the door. 

"Pray do as you suggest, Mr. Wilding, " said he. "But I depend upon younot to tax our patience. "

"I shall not keep Mr. Trenchard a moment longer than is necessary, " saidWilding, giving no hint of the second meaning in his words. 

He stepped to the door, opened it himself, and signed to Trenchard topass out. The old player obeyed him readily, if in silence. An usherclosed the door after them, and in silence they walked together to theend of the passage. 

"Where is your horse, Nick?" quoth Wilding abruptly. 

"What a plague do you mean, where is my horse?" flashed Trenchard. "Whatmidsummer frenzy is this? Damn you for a marplot, Anthony! What a poxare you thinking of to thrust yourself in here at such a time?"

"I had no knowledge you were in the affair, " said Wilding. "You shouldhave told me. " His manner was brisk to the point of dryness. "However, there is still time to get you out of it. Where is your horse?"

"Damn my horse!" answered Tren chard in a passion. "You have spoiledeverything!"

"On the contrary, " said Mr. Wilding tartly, "it seems you had done thatvery thoroughly before I arrived. Whilst I am touched by the regard forme which has misled you into turning the tables on Blake and Westmacott, yet I do blame you for this betrayal of the Cause. "

"There was no help for it. "

"Why, no; and that is why you should have left matters where theystood. "

Trenchard stamped his foot; indeed, he almost danced in the excess ofhis vexation. "Left them where they stood!" he echoed. "Body o' me!Where are your wits? Left them where they stood! And at any moment youmight have been taken unawares as a consequence of this accusation beinglodged against you by Richard or by Blake. Then the Cause would havebeen betrayed, indeed. "

"Not more so than it is now. 

"Not less, at least, " snapped the player. "You give me credit for nomore wit than yourself. Do you think that I am the man to do things byhalves? I have betrayed the plot to Albemarle; but do you imagine I havemade no provision for what must follow?"

"Provision?" echoed Wilding, staring. 

"Aye, provision. God lack! What do you suppose Albemarle will do?"

"Dispatch a messenger to Whitehall with the letter within an hour. "

"You perceive it, do you? And where the plague do you think NickTrenchard'll be what time that messenger rides?"

Mr. Wilding understood. "Aye, you may stare, " sneered Trenchard. "Aletter that has once been stolen may be stolen again. The courier mustgo by way of Walford. I had in my mind arranged the spot, close by theford, where I should fall upon him, rob him of his dispatches, and takehim--bound hand and foot if necessary--to Vallancey's, who lives closeby; and there I'd leave him until word came that the Duke had landed. "

"That the Duke had landed?" cried Wilding. "You talk as though the thingwere imminent. "

"And imminent it is. For aught we know he may be in England already. "

Mr. Wilding laughed impatiently. "You must forever be building on thesecrack-brained rumours, Nick, " said he. 

"Rumours!" roared the other. "Rumours? Ha!" He checked his wild scorn, and proceeded in a different key. "I was forgetting. You do not know theContents of that stolen letter. "

Wilding started. Underlying his disbelief in the talk of thecountryside, and even in the military measures which by the King'sorders were being taken in the West, was an uneasy dread lest theyshould prove to be well founded, lest Argyle's operations in Scotlandshould be but the forerunner of a rash and premature invasion byMonmouth. He knew the Duke was surrounded by such reckless, foolhardycounsellors as Grey and Ferguson--and yet he could not think the Dukewould ruin all by coming before he had definite word that his friendswere ready. He looked at Trenchard now with anxious eyes. 

"Have you seen the letter, Nick?" he asked, and almost dreaded thereply. 

"Albemarle showed it me an hour ago, " said Trenchard. 

"And it contains?"

"The news we fear. It is in the Duke's own hand, and intimates that hewill follow it in a few days--in a few days, man in person. "

Mr. Wilding clenched teeth and hands. "God help us all, then!" hemuttered grimly. 

"Meanwhile, " quoth Trenchard, bringing him back to the point, "there isthis precious business here. I had as choice a plan as could have beendevised, and it must have succeeded, had you not come blundering into itto mar it all at the last moment. That fat fool Albemarle had swallowedmy impeachment like a draught of muscadine. Do you hear me?" he endedsharply, for Mr. Wilding stood bemused, his thoughts plainly wandering. 

He let his hand fall upon Trenchard's shoulder. "No, " said he, "I wasn'tlistening. No matter; for even had I known the full extent of yourscheme I still must have interfered. "

"For the sake of Mistress Westmacott's blue eyes, no doubt, " sneeredTrenchard. "Pah! Wherever there's a woman there's the loss of a man. "

"For the sake of Mistress Wilding's blue eyes, " his friend correctedhim. "I'll allow no brother of hers to hang in my place. "

"It will be interesting to see how you will rescue him. "

"By telling the truth to Albemarle. "

"He'll not believe it. "

"I shall prove it, " said Wilding quietly. Trenchard swung round upon himin mingled anger and alarm for him. "You shall not do it!" he snarled. "It is nothing short of treason to the Duke to get yourself laid by theheels at such a time as this. "

"I hope to avoid it, " answered Wilding confidently. 

"Avoid it? How?" "Not by staying longer here in talk. That will ruinall. Away with you, Trenchard!"

"By my soul, no!" answered Trenchard. "I'll not leave you. If I have gotyou into this, I'll help to get you out again, or stay in it with you. "

"Bethink you of Monmouth?" Wilding admonished him. 

"Damn Monmouth!" was the vicious answer. "I am here, and here I stay. "

"Get to horse, you fool, and ride to Walford as you proposed, there toambush the messenger. The letter will go to Whitehall none the less inspite of what I shall tell Albemarle. If things go well with me, I shalljoin you at Vallancey's before long. "

"Why, if that is your intention, " said Trenchard, "I had better stay, and we can ride together. It will make it less uncertain for you. "

"But less certain for you. "

"The more reason why I should remain. "

The door of the hall was suddenly flung open at the far end of thecorridor, and Albemarle's booming voice, impatiently raised, reachedthem where they stood. 

"In any case, " added Trenchard, "it seems there is no help for it now. "

Mr. Wilding shrugged his shoulders, but otherwise dissembled hisvexation. Up the passage floated the constable's voice calling them. 

Side by side they moved down, and side by side they stepped once moreinto the presence of Christopher Monk and his associates. 

"Sirs, you have not been in haste, " was the Duke's ill-humouredgreeting. 

"We have tarried a little that we might make an end the sooner, "answered Trenchard dryly, and this was the first indication he gave Mr. Wilding of how naturally--like the inimitable actor that he was--he hadslipped into his new role. 

Albemarle waved the frivolous rejoinder aside. "Come, Mr. Wilding, " saidhe, "let us hear what you may have to say. You are not, I take it, aboutto urge any reasons why these rogues should not be committed?"

"Indeed, Your Grace, " said Wilding, "that is what I am about to urge. "

Blake and Richard looked at him suddenly, and from him to Trenchard; butit was only Ruth whose eyes were shrewd enough to observe the altereddemeanour of the latter. Her hopes rose, founded upon this oddlyassorted pair. Already in anticipation she was stirred by gratitudetowards Wilding, and it was in impatient and almost wondering awe thatshe waited for him to proceed. 

"I take it, sir, " he said, without waiting for Albemarle to expressany of the fresh astonishment his countenance manifested, "that theaccusation against these gentlemen rests entirely upon the letter whichyou have been led to believe was addressed to Mr. Westmacott. "

The Duke scowled a moment before replying. "Why, " said he, "if it couldbe shown--irrefutably shown--that the letter was not addressed to eitherof them, that would no doubt establish the truth of what they say--thatthey possessed themselves of the letter in the interests of HisMajesty. " He turned to Luttrell and Phelips, and they nodded theirconcurrence with his view of the matter. "But, " he continued, "ifyou are proposing to prove any such thing, I think you will find itdifficult. "

Mr. Wilding drew a crumpled paper from his pocket. "When the courierwhom they robbed, as they have correctly informed you, " said he quietly, "suspected their design upon the contents of his wallet, he bethoughthim of removing the wrapper from the letter, so that in case theletter were seized by them it should prove nothing against any manin particular. He stuffed the wrapper into the lining of his hat, preserving it as a proof of his good faith against the time when heshould bring the letter to its destination, or come to confess that ithad been taken from him. That wrapper the courier brought to me, and Ihave it here. The evidence it will give should be more than sufficientto warrant your restoring these unjustly accused gentlemen theirliberty. "

"The courier took it to you?" echoed Albemarle, stupefaction in hisglance. "But why to you?"

"Because, " said Wilding, and with his left hand he placed the wrapperbefore Albemarle, whilst his right dropped again to his pocket, "theletter, as you may see, was addressed to me. "

The quiet manner in which he made the announcement conveyed almost asgreat a shock as the announcement itself. 

Albemarle took up the wrapper; Luttrell and Phelips craned forward tojoin him in his scrutiny of it. They compared the two, paper with paper, writing with writing. Then Monk flung one and the other down in front ofhim. 

"What lies have I been hearing, then?" he demanded furiously ofTrenchard. "'Slife I'll make an example of you. Arrest me thatrogue--arrest them both, " and he half rose from his seat, his tremblinghand pointing to Wilding and Trenchard. 

Two of the tything-men stirred to do his bidding, but in the sameinstant Albemarle found himself looking into the round nozzle of apistol. 

"If, " said Mr. Wilding, "a finger is laid upon Mr. Trenchard or me Ishall have the extreme mortification of being compelled to shoot YourGrace. "

His pleasantly modulated voice was as deliberate and calm as if he wereoffering the Bench a pinch of snuff. Albemarle's dark visage crimsoned;his eyes became at once wicked and afraid. Sir Edward's cheeks turnedpale, his glance grew startled. Luttrell alone, vigilant and dangerous, preserved his calm. But the situation baffled even him. 

Behind the two friends the tything-men had come to a terror-strickenhalt. Diana had risen from her chair in the excitement of the moment andhad drawn close to Ruth, who looked on with parted lips and bosomthat rose and fell. Even Blake could not stifle his admiration ofMr. Wilding's coolness and address. Richard, on the other hand, wasconcerned only with thoughts for himself, wondering how it would farewith him if Wilding and Trenchard succeeded in getting away. 

"Nick, " said Mr. Wilding, "will you desire those catchpolls behind usto stand aside? If Your Grace raises your voice to call for help, if, indeed, any measures are taken calculated to lead to our capture, Ican promise Your Grace--notwithstanding my profound reluctance to useviolence--that they will be the last measures you will take in life. Begood enough to open the door, Nick, and to see that the key is on theoutside. "

Trenchard, who was by way of enjoying himself now, stepped brisklydown the hall to do as his friend bade him, with a wary eye on thetything-men. But never so much as a finger did they dare to lift. Mr. Wilding's calm was too deadly; they had seen a man in earnest beforethis, and they knew his appearance now. From the doorway Trenchardcalled Mr. Wilding. 

"I must be going, Your Grace, " said the latter very courteously, "butI shall not be so wanting in deference to His Majesty's augustrepresentatives as to turn my back upon you. " Saying which, he walkedbackwards, holding his pistol level, until he had reached Trenchard andthe door. There he paused and made them a deep bow, his manner the moremocking in that there was no tinge of mockery perceptible. "Your veryobedient servant, " said he, and stepped outside. Trenchard turned thekey, withdrew it from the lock, and, standing on tiptoe, thrust it uponthe ledge of the lintel. 

Instantly a clamour arose within the chamber. But the two friends neverstayed to listen. Down the passage they sped at the double, and outinto the courtyard. Here Ruth's groom, mounted himself, was walking hismistress's and Diana's horses up and down whilst he waited; yonder oneof Sir Edward's stable-boys was holding Mr. Wilding's roan. Two or threemen of the Somerset militia, in their red and yellow liveries, loungedby the gates, and turned uninterested eyes upon these newcomers. 

Wilding approached his wife's groom. "Get down, " he said, "I need yourhorse--on the King's business. Get down, I say, " he added impatiently, upon noting the fellow's stare, and, seizing his leg, he helped him todismount by almost dragging him from the saddle. "Up with you, Nick, "said he, and Nick very promptly mounted. "Your mistress will be herepresently, " Wilding told the groom, and, turning on his heel, strodeto his own mare. A moment later Trenchard and he vanished through thegateway with a tremendous clatter, just as the Lord-Lieutenant, ColonelLuttrell, Sir Edward Phelips, the constable, the tything-men, SirRowland, Richard, and the ladies made their appearance. 

Ruth pushed her way quickly to the front. She feared lest her horseand her cousin's being at hand might be used for the pursuit; so urgingDiana to do the same, she snatched her reins from the hands of thedumbfounded groom and leapt nimbly to the saddle. 

"After them!" roared Albemarle, and the constable with two of hismen made a dash for the gateway to raise the hue and cry, whilstthe militiamen watched them in stupid, inactive wonder. "Damnation, mistress!" thundered the Duke in ever-increasing passion, "hold yournag! Hold your nag, woman!" For Ruth's horse had become unmanageable, and was caracoling about the yard between the men and the gateway insuch a manner that they dared not attempt to win past her. 

"You have scared him with your bellowing, " she panted, tugging at thebridle, and all but backed into the constable who had been endeavouringto get round behind her. The beast continued its wild prancing, and theDuke abated nothing in his furious profanity, until suddenly the groom, having relinquished to Diana the reins of the other horse, sprang toRuth's assistance and caught her bridle in a firm grasp which broughtthe animal to a standstill. 

"You fool!" she hissed at him, and half raised her whip to strike, butchecked on the impulse, bethinking her in time that, after all, what thepoor lad had done he had done thinking her distressed. 

The constable and a couple of his fellows won through; others wererousing the stable and getting to horse, and in the courtyard all wasbustle and commotion. Meanwhile, however, Mr. Wilding and Trenchard hadmade the most of their start, and were thundering through the town. 

CHAPTER XII. AT THE FORD

As Mr. Wilding and Nick Trenchard rode hell-to-leather through Tauntonstreets they never noticed a horseman at the door of the Red Lion Inn. But the horseman noticed them. He looked up at the sound of their wildapproach, started upon recognizing them, and turned in his saddle asthey swept past him to call upon them excitedly to stop. 

"Hi!" he shouted. "Nick Trenchard! Hi! Wilding!" Then, seeing that theyeither did not hear or did not heed him, he loosed a volley of oaths, wheeled his horse about, drove home the spurs, and started in pursuit. Out of the town he followed them and along the road towards Walford, shouting and clamouring at first, afterwards in a grim and angrysilence. 

Now, despite their natural anxiety for their own safety, Wilding andTrenchard had by no means abandoned their project of taking cover by theford to await the messenger whom Albemarle and the others would nodoubt be sending to Whitehall; and this mad fellow thundering after themseemed in a fair way to mar their plan. As they reluctantly passed thespot they had marked out for their ambush, splashed through the ford andbreasted the rising ground beyond, they took counsel. They determinedto stand and meet this rash pursuer. Trenchard calmly opined that ifnecessary they must shoot him; he was, I fear, a bloody-minded fellowat bottom, although, it is true he justified himself now by pointing outthat this was no time to hesitate at trifles. Partly because theytalked and partly because the gradient was steep and their horsesneeded breathing, they slackened rein, and the horseman behind themcame tearing through the water of the ford and lessened the distanceconsiderably in the next few minutes. 

He bethought him of using his lungs once more. "Hi, Wilding! Hold, damnyou!"

"He curses you in a most intimate manner, " quoth Trenchard. 

Wilding reined in and turned in the saddle. "His voice has a familiarsound, " said he. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked down theslope at the pursuer, who came on crouching low upon the withers of hisgoaded beast. 

"Wait!" the fellow shouted. "I have news--news for you!"

"It's Vallancey!" cried Wilding suddenly. Trenchard too had drawn reinand was looking behind him. Instead of expressing relief at the discoverythat this was not an enemy, he swore at the trouble to which they hadso needlessly put themselves, and he was still at his vituperations whenVallancey came up with them, red in the face and very angry, cursingthem roundly for the folly of their mad career, and for not havingstopped when he bade them. 

"It was no doubt discourteous, " said Mr. Wilding "but we took you forsome friend of the Lord-Lieutenant's. "

"Are they after you?" quoth Vallancey, his face of a sudden verystartled. 

"Like enough, " said Trenchard, "if they have found their horses yet. "

"Forward, then, " Vallancey urged them in excitement, and he picked uphis reins again. "You shall hear my news as we ride. "

"Not so, " said Trenchard. "We have business here down yonder at theford. "

"Business? What business?"

They told him, and scarce had they got the words out than he cut inimpatiently. "That's no matter now. 

"Not yet, perhaps, " said Mr. Wilding; "but it will be if that lettergets to Whitehall. "

"Odso!" was the impatient retort, "there's other news travelling toWhitehall that will make small-beer of this--and belike it's well on itsway there already. "

"What news is that?" asked Trenchard. Vallancey told them. "The Duke haslanded--he came ashore this morning at Lyme. "

"The Duke?" quoth Mr. Wilding, whilst Trenchard merely stared. "WhatDuke?"

"What Duke! Lord, you weary me! What dukes be there? The Duke ofMonmouth, man. "

"Monmouth!" They uttered the name in a breath. "But is this reallytrue?" asked Wilding. "Or is it but another rumour?"

"Remember the letter your friends intercepted, " Trenchard bade him. 

"I am not forgetting it, " said Wilding. 

"It's no rumour, " Vallancey assured them. "I was at White Lackingtonthree hours ago when the news came to George Speke, and I was riding tocarry it to you, going by way of Taunton that I might drop word of itfor our friends at the Red Lion. "

Trenchard needed no further convincing; he looked accordingly dismayed. But Wilding found it still almost impossible--in spite of what alreadyhe had learnt--to credit this amazing news. It was hard to believe theDuke of Monmouth mad enough to spoil all by this sudden and unheraldedprecipitation. 

"You heard the news at Whitp Lackington?" said he slowly. "Who carriedit thither?"

"There were two messengers, " answered Vallancey, with restrainedimpatience, "and they were Heywood Dare--who has been appointedpaymaster to the Duke's forces--and Mr. Chamberlain. "

Mr. Wilding was observed for once to change colour. He gripped Vallanceyby the wrist. "You saw them?" he demanded, and his voice had a husky, unusual sound. "You saw them?"

"With these two eyes, " answered Vallancey, "and I spoke with them. "

It was true, then! There was no room for further doubt. 

Wilding looked at Trenchard, who shrugged his shoulders and made a wryface. "I never thought but that we were working in the service of ahairbrain, " said he contemptuously. 

Vallancey proceeded to details. "Dare and Chamberlain, " he informedthem, "came off the Duke's own frigate at daybreak to-day. They were putashore at Seatown, and they rode straight to Mr. Speke's with the news, returning afterwards to Lyme. "

"What men has the Duke with him, did you learn?" asked Wilding. 

"Not more than a hundred or so, from what Dare told us. "

"A hundred! God help us all! And is England to be conquered with ahundred men? Oh, this is midsummer frenzy. "

"He counts on all true Protestants to flock to his banner, " put inTrenchard, and it was not plain whether he expressed a fact or sneeredat one. 

"Does he bring money and arms, at least?" asked Wilding. 

"I did not ask, " answered Vallancey. "But Dare told us that threevessels had come over, so that it is to be supposed he brings somemanner of provision with him. "

"It is to be hoped so, Vallancey; but hardly to be supposed, " quothTrenchard, and then he touched Wilding on the arm and pointed with hiswhip across the fields towards Taunton. A cloud of dust was rising frombetween tall hedges where ran the road. "I think it were wise to bemoving. At least, this sudden landing of James Scott relieves my mind inthe matter of that letter. "

Wilding, having taken a look at the floating dust that announced theoncoming of their pursuers, was now lost in thought. Vallancey, who, beyond excitement at the news of which he was the bearer, seemed to haveno opinion of his own as to the wisdom or folly of the Duke's suddenarrival, looked from one to the other of these two men whom he had knownas the prime secret agents in the West, and waited Trenchard moved hishorse a few paces nearer the hedge, whence he "Whither now, Anthony?" heasked suddenly. 

"You may ask, indeed!" exclaimed Wilding, and his voice was as bitteras ever Trenchard had heard it. "'S heart! We are in it now! We hadbest make for Lyme--if only that we may attempt to persuade thiscrack-brained boy to ship back to Holland again, and ship ourselves withhim. "

"There's sense in you at last, " grumbled Trenchard. "But I misdoubt mehe'll turn back after having come so far. Have you any money?" he asked. He could be very practical at times. 

"A guinea or two. But I can get money at Ilminster. "

"And how do you propose to reach Ilminster with these gentlemen by wayof cutting us off?"

"We'll double back as far as the cross-roads, " said Wilding promptly, "and strike south over Swell Hill for Hatch. If we ride hard we can doit easily, and have little fear of being followed. They'll naturallytake it we have made for Bridgwater. "

They acted on the suggestion there and then, Vallancey going with them;for his task was now accomplished, and he was all eager to get to Lymeto kiss the hand of the Protestant Duke. They rode hard, as Wilding hadsaid they must, and they reached the junction of the roads before theirpursuers hove in sight. Here Wilding suddenly detained them again. Theroad ahead of them ran straight for almost a mile, so that if they tookit now they were almost sure to be seen presently by the messengers. On their right a thickly grown coppice stretched from the road to thestream that babbled in the hollow. He gave it as his advice that theyshould lie hidden there until those who hunted them should have gone by. Obviously that was the only plan, and his companions instantly adoptedit. They found a way through a gate into an adjacent field, and fromthis they gained the shelter of the trees. Trenchard, neglectful ofhis finery and oblivious of the ubiquitous brambles, left his horse inVallancey's care and crept to the edge of the thicket that he might takea peep at the pursuers. 

They came up very soon, six militiamen in lobster coats with yellowfacings, and a sergeant, which was what Mr. Trenchard might haveexpected. There was, however, something else that Mr. Trenchard did notexpect; something that afforded him considerable surprise. At the headof the party rode Sir Rowland Blake--obviously leading it--and with himwas Richard Westmacott. Amongst them went a man in grey clothes, whom Mr. Trenchard rightly conjectured to be the messenger riding forWhitehall. He thought with a smile of what a handful he andWilding would have had had they waited to rob that messenger of theincriminating letter that he bore. Then he checked his smile to consideragain how Sir Rowland Blake came to head that party. He abandoned theproblem, as the little troop swept unhesitatingly round to the left andwent pounding along the road that led northwards to Bridgwater, clearlynever doubting which way their quarry had sped. 

As for Sir Rowland Blake's connection with this pursuit, the towngallant had by his earnestness not only convinced Colonel Luttrell ofhis loyalty and devotion to King James, but had actually gone so far asto beg that he might be allowed to prove that same loyalty by leadingthe soldiers to the capture of those self-confessed traitors, Mr. Wilding and Mr. Trenchard. From his knowledge of their haunts he wasconfident, he assured Colonel Luttrell, that he could be of serviceto the King in this matter. The fierce sincerity of his purpose shonethrough his words; Luttrell caught the accent of hate in Sir Rowland'stense voice, and, being a shrewd man, he saw that if Mr. Wilding was tobe taken, an enemy would surely be the best pursuer to accomplish it. Sohe prevailed, and gave him the trust he sought, in Spite of Albemarle'sexpressed reluctance. And never did bloodhound set out more relentlesslypurposeful upon a scent than did Sir Rowland follow now in what hebelieved to be the track of this man who stood between him and RuthWestmacott. Until Ruth was widowed, Sir Rowland's hopes of her must liefallow; and so it was with a zest that he flung himself into the task ofwidowing her. 

As the party passed out of view round the angle of the white road, Trenchard made his way back to Wilding to tell him what he had seen andto lay before him, for his enucleation, the problem of Blake's being theleader of it. But Wilding thought little of Blake, and cared little ofwhat he might be the leader. 

"We'll stay here, " said he, "until they have passed the crest of thehill. "

This, Trenchard told him, was his own purpose; for to leave theirconcealment earlier would be to reveal themselves to any of the trooperswho might happen to glance over his shoulder. 

And so they waited some ten minutes or so, and then walked their horsesslowly and carefully forward through the trees towards the road. Wildingwas alongside and slightly ahead of Trenchard; Vallancey followed closeupon their tails. Suddenly, as Wilding was about to put his mare at thelow stone wall, Trenchard leaned forward and caught his bridle. 

"Ss!" he hissed. "Horses!"

And now that they halted they heard the hoofbeats clear and close athand; the crackling of undergrowth and the rustle of the leaves throughwhich they had thrust their passage had deafened their ears to othersounds until this moment. They checked and waited where they stood, barely screened by the few boughs that still might intervene betweenthem and the open, not daring to advance, and not daring to retreatlest their movements should draw attention to themselves. They remainedabsolutely still, scarcely breathing, their only hope being that ifthese who came should chance to be enemies they might ride on withoutlooking to right or left. It was so slender a hope that Wilding lookedto the priming of his pistols, whilst Trenchard, who had none, loosenedhis sword in its scabbard. Nearer came the riders. 

"There are not more than three, " whispered Trenchard, who had beenlistening intently, and Mr. Wilding nodded, but said nothing. 

Another moment and the little party was abreast of those watchers; adark brown riding-habit flashed into their line of vision, and ablue one laced with gold. At sight of the first Mr. Wilding's eyelidsflickered; he had recognized it for Ruth's, with whom rode Diana, whilst some twenty paces or so behind came Jerry, the groom. They werereturning to Bridgwater. 

They came along, looking neither to right nor to left, as the three menhad hoped they would, and they were all but past, when suddenly Wildinggave his roan a touch of the spur and bounded forward. Diana's horseswerved so that it nearly threw her. Ruth, slightly ahead, reined in atonce; so, too, did the groom in the rear, and so violently in his suddenfear of highwaymen that he brought his horse on to its hind legs and hadit prancing and rearing madly about the road, so that he was hard put toit to keep his seat. 

Ruth looked round as Mr. Wilding's voice greeted her. 

"Mistress Wilding, " he called to her. "A moment, if I may detain you. "

"You have eluded them!" she cried, entirely off her guard in hersurprise at seeing him, and there echoed through her words a note ofgenuine gladness that almost disconcerted her husband for a moment. Thenext instant a crimson flush overspread her pale face, and her eyes wereveiled from him, vexation in her heart at having betrayed the livelysatisfaction it afforded her to see him safe when she feared himcaptured already or at least upon the point of capture. 

She had admired him almost unconsciously for his daring at the town hallthat day, when his strong calm had stood out in such sharp contrast tothe fluster and excitement of the men about him; of them all, indeed, ithad seemed to her in those stressful moments that he was the only man, and she was--although she did not realize it--in danger of being proudof him. Then again the thing he had done. He had come deliberately tothrust his head into the lion's maw that he might save her brother. Itwas possible that he had done it in answer to the entreaties which shehad earlier feared she had poured into deaf ears; or it was possiblethat he had done it spurred by his sense of right and justice, whichwould not permit him to allow another to suffer in his stead--howevermuch that other might be caught in the very toils that he had preparedfor Mr. Wilding himself. Her admiration, then, was swelled by gratitude, and it was a compound of these that had urged her to hinder thetything-men from winning past her until he and Trenchard should have gotwell away. 

Afterwards, when with Diana and her groom--on a horse which Sir EdwardPhelips insisted upon lending them--she rode homeward from Taunton, there was Diana to keep alive the spark of kindness that glowed at lastfor Wilding in Ruth's breast. Miss Horton extolled his bravery, hischivalry, his nobility, and ended by expressing her envy of Ruth thatshe should have won such a man amongst men for her husband, and wonderedwhat it might be that kept Ruth from claiming him for her own as washer right. Ruth had answered little, but she had ridden very thoughtful;there was that in the past she found it hard to forgive Wilding. And yetshe would now have welcomed an opportunity of thanking him for what hehad done, of expressing to him something of the respect he had wonin her eyes by his act of selfdenunciation to save her brother. Thischance, it seemed, was given her, for there he stood, with head baredbefore her; and already she thought no longer of seizing the chance, vexed as she was at having been surprised into a betrayal of feelingswhose warmth she had until that moment scarce estimated. 

In answer to her cry of "You have eluded them!" he waved a hand towardsthe rising ground and the road to Bridgwater. 

"They passed that way but a few moments since, " said he, "and by therate at which they were travelling they should be nearing Newton by now. In their great haste to catch me they could not pause to look for me soclose at hand, " he added with a smile, "and for that I am thankful. "

She sat her horse and answered nothing, which threw her cousin out ofall patience with her. "Come, Jerry, " Diana called to the groom. "Wewill walk our horses up the hill. "

"You are very good, madam, " said Mr. Wilding, and he bowed to thewithers of his roan. 

Ruth said nothing; expressed neither approval nor disapproval of Diana'swithdrawal, and the latter, with a word of greeting to Wilding, wentahead followed by Jerry, who had regained control by now of the beasthe bestrode. Wilding watched them until they turned the corner, then hewalked his mare slowly forward until he was alongside Ruth. 

"Before I go, " said he, "there is something I should like to say. " Hisdark eyes were sombre, his manner betrayed some hesitation. 

The diffidence of his tone proved startling to her by virtue of itsunusualness. What might it portend, she wondered, and sought with graveeyes to read his baffling countenance; and then a wild alarm swept intoher and shook her spirit in its grip; there was something of which untilthis moment she had not thought--something connected with the fatefulmatter of that letter. It had stood as a barrier between them, herbuckler, her sole defence against him. It had been to her what itssting is to the bee--a thing which if once used in self-defence isself-destructive. Not, indeed, that she had used it as her sting; it hadbeen forced from her by the machinations of Trenchard; but used it hadbeen, and was done with; she had it no longer that with it she mighthold him in defiance, and it did not occur to her that he was no longerin case to invoke the law. 

Her face grew stony, a dry glitter came to her blue eyes; she cast aglance over her shoulder at Diana and her servant. Wilding observedit and read what was passing in her mind; indeed, it was not to bemistaken, no more than what is passing in the mind of the recruit wholooks behind him in the act of charging. His lips half smiled. 

"Of what are you afraid?" he asked her. 

"I am not afraid, " she answered in husky accents that belied her. 

Perhaps to reassure her, perhaps because he thought of his companionslurking in the thicket and cared not to have them for his audience, hesuggested they should go a little way in the direction her cousin hadtaken. She wheeled her horse, and, side by side, they ambled up thedusty road. 

"The thing I have to tell you, " said he presently, "concerns myself. "

"Does it concern me?" she asked him coldly, and her coolness was urgedpartly by her newborn fears, partly to counterbalance such impressionas her illjudged show of gladness at his safety might have made upon hismind. He flashed her a sidelong glance, the long white fingers of hisright hand toying thoughtfully with a ringlet of the dark brown hairthat fell upon the shoulders of his scarlet coat. 

"Surely, madam, " he answered dryly, "what concerns a man may wellconcern his wife. "

She bowed her head, her eyes upon the road before her. "True, " said she, her voice expressionless. "I had forgot. "

He reined in and turned to look at her; her horse moved on a pace ortwo, then came to a halt, apparently of its own accord. 

"I do protest, " said he, "you treat me less kindly than I deserve. " Heurged his mare forward until he had come up with her again, andthen drew rein once more. "I think that I may lay some claim to--atleast--your gratitude for what I did to-day. "

"It is my inclination to be grateful, " said she. She was very wary ofhim. "Forgive me, if I am still mistrustful. "

"But of what?" he cried, a thought impatiently. 

"Of you. What ends did you seek to serve? Was it to save Richard thatyou came?"

"Unless you think that it was to save Blake, " he said ironically. "Whatother ends do you conceive I could have served?" She made him no answer, and so he resumed after a pause. "I rode to Taunton to serve you for tworeasons; because you asked me, and because I would have no innocent mensuffer in my stead--not even though, as these men, they were but caughtin their own toils, hoist with the petard they had charged for me. Beyond these two motives, I had no other thought in ruining myself. "

"Ruining yourself?" she cried. Yes, it was true; but she had not thoughtof it until this moment; there had been so much to think of. 

"Is it not ruin to be outlawed, to have a price set upon your head, aswill no doubt a price be set on mine when Albemarle's messenger shallhave reached Whitehall? Is it not ruin to have my lands and all Iown made forfeit to the State, to find myself a beggar, hunted andproscribed? Forgive me that I harass you with this catalogue of mymisfortunes. You'll say, no doubt, that I have brought them upon myselfby compelling you against your will to marry me. 

"I'll not deny that it is in my mind, " said she, and of set purposestifled pity. 

He sighed and looked at her again, but she would not meet his eye, elseits whimsical expression might have intrigued her. "Can you deny mymagnanimity, I wonder?" said he, and spoke almost as one amused. "All Ihad I sacrificed to do your will, to save your brother from the snareof his own contriving against me. I wonder do you yet realize how muchI sacrificed to-day at Taunton! I wonder!" And he paused, looking at herand waiting for some word from her; but she had none for him. 

"Clearly you do not, else I think you would show me if only a pretenceof kindness. " She was looking at him at last, her eyes less hard. Theyseemed to ask him to explain. "When you came this morning with thetale of how the tables had been turned upon your brother, of how hewas caught in his own springe, and the letter found in his keeping wasbefore the King's folk at Taunton with every appearance of having beenaddressed to him, and not a tittle of evidence to show that it had beenmeant for me, do you know what news it was you brought me?" He pauseda second, looking at her from narrowing eyes. Then he answered his ownquestion. "You brought me the news that you were mine to take whensoe'erI pleased. Whilst that letter was in your hands it gave you the power tomake me your obedient slave. You might blow upon me as you listed whilstyou held it, and I was a vane that must turn to your blowing for myhonour's sake and for the sake of the cause in which I worked. Throughno rashness of mine must that letter come into the hands of the King'sfriends, else was I dishonoured. It was an effective barrier between us. So long as you possessed that letter you might pipe as you pleased, andI must dance to the tune you set. And then this morning what you came totell me was that things were changed; that it was mine to call the tune. Had I had the strength to be a villain, you had been mine now, andyour brother and Sir Rowland might have hanged on the rope of their ownweaving. "

She looked at him in a startled, almost shamefaced manner. This was anaspect of the case she had not considered. 

"You realize it, I see, " he said, and smiled wistfully. "Then perhapsyou realize why you found me so unwilling to do the thing you craved. Having treated me ungenerously, you came to cast yourself upon mygenerosity, asking me--though I scarcely think you understood--to beggarmyself of life itself with all it held for me. God knows I make nopretence to virtue, and yet I think I had been something more than humanhad I not refused you and the bargain you offered--a bargain that youwould never be called upon to fulfil if I did the thing you asked. "

At last she interrupted him; she could bear it no longer. 

"I had not thought of it!" she cried. It was a piteous wail that brokefrom her. "I swear I had not thought of that. I was all distraught forpoor Richard's sake. Oh, Mr. Wilding, " she turned to him, holding out ahand; her eyes shone, filmed with moisture, "I shall have a kindnessfor you.. , all my days for your... Generosity to-day. " It was lamentablyweak, far from the hot expressions which she forced it to replace. 

"Yes, I was generous, " he admitted. "We will move on as far as thecross-roads. " Again they ambled gently forward. Up the slope from theford Diana and Jerry were slowly climbing; not another human being wasin sight ahead or behind them. "After you left me, " he continued, "yourmemory and your entreaties lingered with me. I gave the matter of ourposition thought, and it seemed to me that all was monstrously ill-done. I loved you, Ruth, I needed you, and you disdained me. My love was asterof me. But 'neath your disdain it was transmuted oddly. " He checked thepassion that was vibrating in his voice and resumed after a pause, inthe calm, slow tones, soft and musical, that were his own. "There isscarce the need for so much recapitulation. When the power was mineI bent you unfairly to my will; you did as much by me when the powersuddenly became yours. It was a strange war between us, and I acceptedits conditions. To-day, when the power was mine again, mine to bring youat last to subjection, behold, I have capitulated at your bidding, andall that I held--including your own self--have I relinquished. It isperhaps fitting. Haply I am punished for having wed you before Ihad wooed you. " Again his tone changed, it grew more cold, morematter-of-fact. "I rode this way a little while ago a hunted man, myonly hope to reach home and collect what moneys and valuables I couldcarry, and make for the coast to find a vessel bound for Holland. Ihave been engaged, as you know, in stirring up rebellion to check theiniquities and persecutions that are toward in a land I love. I'll notweary you with details. Time was needed for this as for all things, andby next spring, perhaps, had matters gone well, this vineyard that socarefully and secretly I have been tending, would have been, maybe, incondition to bear fruit. Even now, in the hour of my flight, I learnthat others have come to force this delicate growth into suddenmaturity. There! Soon ripe, soon rotten. The Duke of Monmouth has landedat Lyme this morning. I am riding to him. "

"To what end?" she cried, and he saw in her face a dismay that amountedalmost to fear, and he wondered was it for him. 

"To place my sword at his service. Were I not encompassed by thisruin, I should not have stirred a foot in that direction--so rash, soforedoomed to failure is this invasion. As it is, "--he shrugged andlaughed--"it is the only hope--all forlorn though it may be--for me. "

The trammels she had imposed upon her soul fell away at that like bondsof cobweb. She laid her hand upon his wrists, tears stood in her eyes;her lips quivered. 

"Anthony, forgive me, " she besought him. He trembled under her touch, under the caress of her voice, and at the sound of his name for thefirst time upon her lips. 

"What have I to forgive?" he asked. 

"The thing that I did in the matter of that letter. "

"You poor child, " said he, smiling gently upon her, "you did it inself-defence. "

"Yet say that you forgive me--say it before you go!" she begged him. 

He considered her gravely a moment. "To what end, " he asked, "do youimagine that I have talked so much? To the end that I might show youthat however I may have wronged you I have at the last made some amends;and that for the sake of this, the truest proof of penitence, I may haveyour forgiveness ere I go. "

She was weeping softly. "It was an ill day on which we met, " she sighed. 

"For you--aye. "

"Nay--for you. 

"We'll say for both of us, then, " he compromised. "See, Ruth, yourcousin grows weary, and I have a couple of comrades who are no doubtimpatient to be gone. It may not be good for us to tarry in these parts. Some amends I have made; but there is one crowning wrong which I havedone you for which there is but one amend to make. " He paused. Hesteadied himself before continuing. In his attempt to render his voicecold and commonplace he went near to achieving harshness. "It may bethat this crackbrained rebellion of which the torch is already alightwill, if it does no other good in England, at least make a widow of you. When that has come to pass, when I have thus repaired the wrong Idid you, I hope you'll bear me as kindly as may be in your thought. Good-bye, my Ruth! I would you might have loved me. I sought to forceit. " He smiled ever so wanly. "Perhaps that was my mistake. It is anill thing to eat one's hay while it is grass. " He raised to his lips thelittle gloved hand that still rested on his wrist. "God keep you, Ruth!"he murmured. 

She sought to answer him, but something choked her; a sob was all sheachieved. Had he caught her to him in that moment there is little doubtbut that she had yielded. Perhaps he knew it; and knowing it kept thetighter rein upon desire. She was as metal molten in the crucible, to bemoulded by his craftsman's hands into any pattern that he chose. But thecrucible was the crucible of pity, not of love; that, too, he knew, and, knowing it, forbore. 

He dropped her hand, doffed his hat, and, wheeling his horse about, touched it with the spur and rode back towards the thicket where hisfriends awaited him. As he left her, she too wheeled about, as if tofollow him. She strove to command her voice that she might recall him;but at that same moment Trenchard, hearing his returning hoofs, thrustout into the road with Vallancey following at his heels. The oldplayer's harsh voice reached her where she stood, and it was querulouswith impatience. 

"What a plague do you mean, dallying here at such a time, Anthony?" hecried, to which Vallancey added: "In God's name, let us push on. "

At that she checked her impulse--it may even be that she mistrusted it. She paused, lingering undecided for an instant; then, turning her horseonce more, she ambled up the slope to rejoin Diana. 

CHAPTER XIII. "PRO RELIGIONE ET LIBERTATE"

The evening was far advanced when Mr. Wilding and his two companionsdescended to Uplyme Common from the heights whence as they rode they hadcommanded a clear view of the fair valley of the Axe, lying now under athin opalescent veil of evening mist. 

They had paused at Ilminster for fresh horses, and there Wilding hadpaid a visit to one of his agents from whom he had procured a hundredguineas. Thence they had come south at a sharp pace, and with littlesaid. Wilding was moody and thoughtful, filled with chagrin at thisunconscionable rashness of the man upon whom all his hopes were centred. As they cantered briskly across Uplyme Common in the twilight theypassed several bodies of countrymen, all heading for the town, and onegroup sent up a shout of "God save the Protestant Duke!" as they rodepast him. 

"Amen to that, " muttered Mr. Wilding grimly, "for I am afraid that noman can. "

In the narrow lane by Hay Farm a horseman, going in the oppositedirection, passed them at the gallop; but they had met several suchsince leaving Ilminster, for indeed the news was spreading fast, and thewhole countryside was alive with messengers, some on foot and some onhorseback, but all hurrying as if their lives depended on their haste. 

They made their way to the Market-Place where Monmouth'sdeclaration--that remarkable manifesto from the pen of Ferguson--hadbeen read some hours before. Thence, having ascertained where His Gracewas lodged, they made their way to the George Inn. 

In Coombe Street they found the crowd so dense that they could but withdifficulty open out a way for their horses through the human press. Not a window but was open, and thronged with sight-seers--mostly women, indeed, for the men were in the press below. On every hand resounded thecries of "A Monmouth! A Monmouth! The Protestant Religion! Religion andLiberty, " which latter were the words inscribed on the standard Monmouthhad set up that evening on the Church Cliffs. 

In truth, Wilding was amazed at what he saw, and said as much toTrenchard. So pessimistic had been his outlook that he had almostexpected to find the rebellion snuffed out by the time they reachedLyme-of-the-King. What had the authorities been about that they hadpermitted Monmouth to come ashore, or had Vallancey's information beenwrong in the matter of the numbers that accompanied the ProtestantChampion? Wilding's red coat attracted some attention. In the dusk itscolour was almost all that could be discerned of it. 

"Here's a militia captain for the Duke!" cried one, and others took upthe cry, and if it did nothing else it opened a way for them throughthat solid human mass and permitted them to win through to the yard ofthe George Inn. They found the spacious quadrangle thronged with men, armed and unarmed, and on the steps stood a tall, well-knit, soldierlyman, his hat rakishly cocked, about whom a crowd of townsmen andcountry fellows were pressing with insistence. At a glance Mr. Wildingrecognized Captain Venner--raised to the rank of colonel by Monmouth onthe way from Holland. 

Trenchard dismounted, and taking a distracted stable-boy by the arm, bade him see to their horses. The fellow endeavoured to swing himselffree of the other's tenacious grasp. 

"Let me go, " he cried. "I am for the Duke!"

"And so are we, my fine rebel, " answered Trenchard, holding fast. 

"Let me go, " the lout insisted. "I am going to enlist. "

"And so you shall when you have stabled our nags. See to him, Vallancey;he is brainsick with the fumes of war. "

The fellow protested, but Trenchard's way was brisk and short; and so, protesting still, he led away their cattle in the end, Vallancey goingwith him to see that he performed this last duty as a stable-boy ere hetoo became a champion militant of the Protestant Cause. Trenchard spedafter Wilding, who was elbowing his way through the yokels about thesteps. The glare of a newly lighted lamp from the doorway fell full uponhis long white face as he advanced, and Venner espied and recognizedhim. 

"Mr. Wilding!" he cried, and there was a glad ring in his voice, for though cobblers, tailors, deserters from the militia, pot-boys, stable-boys, and shuffling yokels had been coming in in numbers duringthe past few hours since the Declaration had been read, this was thefirst gentleman that arrived to welcome Monmouth. The soldier stretchedout a hand to grasp the newcomer's. "His Grace will see you thisinstant, not a doubt of it. " He turned and called down the passage. "Cragg!" A young man in a buff coat came forward, and to him Vennerdelivered Wilding and Trenchard that he might announce them to HisGrace. 

In the room that had been set apart for him abovestairs, Monmouth stillsat at table. He had just supped, with but an indifferent appetite, so fevered was he by the events of his landing. He was excited withhope--inspired by the readiness with which the men of Lyme and itsneighbourhood had flocked to his banner--and fretted by anxiety thatnone of the gentry of the vicinity should yet have followed the exampleof the meaner folk, in answer to the messages dispatched at dawn fromSeaton. The board at which he sat was still cumbered with some glassesand platters and vestiges of his repast. Below him on his right satFerguson--that prince of plotters--very busy with pen and ink, his keenface almost hidden by his great periwig; opposite were Lord Grey, ofWerke, and Andrew Fletcher, of Saltoun, whilst, standing at the foot ofthe table barely within the circle of candlelight from the branch on thepolished oak, was Nathaniel Wade, the lawyer, who had fled to Hollandon account of his alleged complicity in the Rye House plot and was nowreturned a major in the Duke's service. Erect and soldierly of figure, girt with a great sword and with the butt of a pistol protruding fromhis belt, he had little the air of a man whose methods of contentionwere forensic. 

"You understand, then, Major Wade, " His Grace was saying, his voicepleasant and musical. "It is decided that the guns had best be gotashore forthwith and mounted. "

Wade bowed. "I shall set about it at once, Your Grace. I shall not wantfor help. Have I Your Grace's leave to go?"

Monmouth nodded, and as Wade passed out, Ensign Cragg entered toannounce Mr. Wilding and Mr. Trenchard. The Duke rose to his feet, hisglance suddenly brightening. Fletcher and Grey rose with him; Fergusonpaid no heed, absorbed in his task, which he industriously continued. 

"At last!" exclaimed the Duke. "Admit them, sir. "

When they entered, Wilding coming first, his hat under his arm, the Dukesprang to meet him, a tall young figure, lithe and slender as a blade ofsteel, and of a steely strength for all his slimness. He was dressed ina suit of purple that became him marvellously well, and on his breast astar of diamonds flashed and smouldered like a thing of fire. He wasof an exceeding beauty of face, wherein he mainly favoured that "bold, handsome woman" that was his mother, without, however, any of hismother's insipidity; fine eyes, a good nose, straight and slender, anda mouth which, if sensual and indicating a lack of strength, wasbeautifully shaped. His chin was slightly cleft, the shape of his facea delicate oval, framed now in the waving masses of his brown wig. Somelikeness to his late Majesty was also discernible, in spite of the wart, out of which his uncle James made so much capital. 

There was a slight flush on his cheeks, an added lustre in his eye, ashe took Wilding's hand and shook it heartily before Wilding had time tokiss His Grace's. 

"You are late, " he said, but there was no reproach in his voice. "We hadlooked to find you here when we came ashore. You had my letter?"

"I had not, Your Grace, " answered Wilding, very grave. "It was stolen. "

"Stolen?" cried the Duke, and behind him Grey pressed forward, whilsteven Ferguson paused in his writing to raise his piercing eyes andlisten. 

"It is no matter, " Wilding reassured him. "Although stolen, it has butgone to Whitehall to-day, when it can add little to the news that isalready on its way there. "

The Duke laughed softly, with a flash of white teeth, and looked pastWilding at Trenchard. Some of the light faded out of his eyes. "Theytold me Mr. Trenchard... " he began, when Wilding, half turning to hisfriend, explained. 

"This is Mr. Nicholas Trenchard--John Trenchard's cousin. 

"I bid you welcome, sir, " said the Duke, very agreeably, "and I trustyour cousin follows you. "

"Alas, " said Trenchard, "my cousin is in France, " and in a few briefwords he related the matter of John Trenchard's home-coming on hisacquittal and the trouble there had been connected with it. 

The Duke received the news in silence. He had expected good support fromold Speke's son-in-law. Indeed, there was a promise that when he came, John Trenchard would bring fifteen hundred men from Taunton. He took aturn in the room deep in thought, and there was a pause until Ferguson, rubbing his great Roman nose, asked suddenly had Mr. Wilding seen theDeclaration. Mr. Wilding had not, and thereupon the plotting parson, whowas proud of his composition, would have read it to him there and then, but that Grey sourly told him the matter would keep, and that they hadother things to discuss with Mr. Wilding. 

This the Duke himself confirmed, stating that there were matters onwhich he would be glad to have their opinion. 

He invited the newcomers to draw chairs to the table; glasses werecalled for, and a couple of fresh bottles of Canary went round theboard. The talk was desultory for a few moments, whilst Wilding andTrenchard washed the dust from their throats; then Monmouth broke theice by asking them bluntly what they thought of his coming thus, earlierthan was at first agreed. 

Wilding never hesitated in his reply. "Frankly, Your Grace, " said he, "Ilike it not at all. "

Fletcher looked up sharply, his clear intelligent eyes full uponWilding's calm face, his countenance expressing as little as didWilding's. Ferguson seemed slightly taken aback. Grey's thick lips weretwisted in a sneering smile. 

"Faith, " said the latter with elaborate sarcasm, "in that case it onlyremains for us to ship again, heave anchor, and back to Holland. "

"It is what I should advise, " said Wilding slowly and quietly, "if Ithought there was a chance of my advice being taken. " He had a calm, almost apathetic way of uttering startling things which rendered themdoubly startling. The sneer seemed to freeze on Lord Grey's lips;Fletcher continued to stare, but his eyes had grown more round; Fergusonscowled darkly. The Duke's boyish face--it was still very youthfuldespite his six-and-thirty years--expressed a wondering consternation. He looked at Wilding, and from Wilding to the others, and his glanceseemed to entreat them to suggest an answer to him. It was Grey at lastwho took the matter up. 

"You shall explain your meaning, sir, or we must hold you a traitor, " heexclaimed. 

"King James does that already, " answered Wilding with a quiet smile. 

"D'ye mean the Duke of York?" rumbled Ferguson's Scottish accent withstartling suddenness, and Monmouth nodded approval of the correction. "If ye mean that bloody papist and fratricide, it were well so to speakof him. Had ye read the Declaration... "

But Fletcher cropped his speech in mid-growth. He was ever ashort-tempered man, intolerant of irrelevancies. 

"It were well, perhaps, " said he, his accent abundantly proclaiming hima fellow countryman of Ferguson's, "to keep to the matter before us. Mr. Wilding, no doubt, will state the reasons that exist, or that he fanciesmay exist, for giving advice which is hardly worthy of the cause towhich he stands committed. "

"Aye, Fletcher, " said Monmouth, "there is sense in you. Tell us what isin your mind, Mr. Wilding. "

"It is in my mind, Your Grace, that this invasion is rash, premature, and ill-advised. "

"Odds life!" cried Grey, and he swung angrily round fully to face theDuke, the nostrils of his heavy nose dilating. "Are we to listen to thismilksop prattle?"

Nick Trenchard, who had hitherto been silent, cleared his throat sonoisily that he drew all eyes to himself. 

"Your Grace, " Mr. Wilding pursued, his air calm and dignified, andgathering more dignity from the circumstance that he proceeded as ifthere had been no interruption, "when I had the honour of conferringwith you at The Hague two months ago, it was agreed that you shouldspend the summer in Sweden--away from politics and scheming, leavingthe work of preparation to your accredited agents here. That work I havebeen slowly but surely pushing forward. It was not to be hurried; men ofposition are not to be won over in a day; men with anything to lose needsome guarantee that they are not wantonly casting their possessions tothe winds. By next spring, as was agreed, all would have been ready. Delay could not have hurt you. Indeed, with every day by which youdelayed your coming you did good service to your cause, you strengthenedits prospects of success; for every day the people's burden ofoppression and persecution grows more heavy, and the people's tempermore short; every day, by the methods that he is pursuing, King Jamesbrings himself into deeper hatred. This hatred is spreading. It wasthe business of myself and those others to help it on, until from thecottage of the ploughman the infection of anger should have spreadto the mansion of the squire. Had Your Grace but given me time, asI entreated you, and as you promised me, you might have marched toWhitehall with scarce the shedding of a drop of blood; had Your Gracebut waited until we were ready, England would have so trembled at yourlanding that your uncle's throne would have toppled over 'neath theshock. As it is... " He shrugged his shoulders, sighed and spread hishands, leaving his sentence uncompleted. 

Monmouth sat sobered by these sober words; the intoxication that hadcome to him from the little measure of success that had attended theopening of the listing on Church Cliffs, deserted him now; he saw thething stark and in its true proportions, and not even the shouting ofthe folk in the streets below, crying his name and acclaiming him theirchampion, served to lighten the gloom that Wilding's words cast likea cloud over his volatile heart. Alas, poor Monmouth! He was ever aweathercock, and even as Wilding's words seemed to strike the courageout of him, so did Grey's short contemptuous answer restore it. 

"As it is, we'll thrust that throne over with our hands, " said he aftera moment's pause. 

"Aye, " cried Monmouth. "We'll do it, God helping us!"

"Our dependence and trust is in the Lord of Hosts, in Whose Name wego forth, " boomed the voice of Ferguson, quoting from his preciousDeclaration. "The Lord will do that which seemeth good unto Him. "

"An unanswerable argument, " said Wilding, smiling. "But the Lord, I amtold by the gentlemen of your cloth, works in His own good time, and myfears are all lest, finding us unprepared of ourselves, the Lord's goodtime be not yet. "

"Out on ye, sir, " cried Ferguson. "Ye want for reverence!"

"Common sense will serve us better at the moment, " answered Wildingwith a touch of sharpness. He turned to the frowning and perplexedDuke--whose mind was being tossed this way and that, like a shuttlecockupon the battledore of these men's words. "Your Grace, " he said, "forgive me that I speak it if hear it you will, or forbid me to say itif your resolve is unalterable in this matter. "

"It is unalterable, " answered Grey for the Duke. 

But Monmouth gently overruled him for once. 

"Nevertheless, speak by all means, Mr. Wilding. Whatever you may say, you need have no fear that any of us can doubt your good intentions toourselves. "

"I thank Your Grace. What I have to say is but a repetition of thefirst words I uttered at this table. I would urge Your Grace even now toretreat. "

"What? Are you mad?" It was Lord Grey who asked the impatient question. 

"I doubt it's over-late for that, " said Fletcher slowly. 

"I am not so sure, " answered Wilding. "But I am sure that to attempt itwere the safer course--the surer in the end. I myself may not lingerto push forward the task of stirring up the people, for I am alreadysomething more than under suspicion. But there are others who willremain to carry on the work after I have departed with Your Grace, ifYour Grace thinks well. From the Continent by correspondence we canmature our plans. In a twelvemonth things will be very different, and wecan return with confidence. "

Grey shrugged and turned his shoulder upon Wilding, but said no word. There was silence of some few moments. Andrew Fletcher leaned his elbowon the table and took his brow in his great bony hand. Wilding's wordsseemed an echo of those he himself had spoken a week or two ago, only tobe overruled by Grey, who swayed the Duke more than did any other--andthat he did not do so of fell purpose, and seeking deliberately to workMonmouth's ruin, no man will ever be able to say with certainty. 

Ferguson rose, a tall, spare, stooping figure, and smote the board withhis fist. "It is a good cause, " he cried, "and God will not leave usunless we leave Him. "

"Henry the Seventh landed with fewer men than did Your Grace, " saidGrey, "and he succeeded. "

"True, " put in Fletcher. "But Henry the Seventh was sure of the supportof not a few of the nobility, which does not seem to be our case. "

Ferguson and Grey stared at him in horror; Monmouth sat biting his lip, more bewildered than thoughtful. 

"O man of little faith!" roared Ferguson in a passion. "Are ye to beswayed like a straw in the wind?"

"I am no' swayed. Ye ken this was ever my own view. I feel, in my heart, that what Mr. Wilding says is right. It is but what I said myself, andCaptain Matthews with me, before we embarked upon this expedition. Wewere in danger of ruining all by a needless precipitancy. Nay, man, never stare so, " he said to Grey, "I am in it now and I am no' the manto draw back, nor do I go so far as Mr. Wilding in counselling such acourse. We've set our hands to the plough; let us go forward in God'sname. Yet I would remind you that what Mr. Wilding says is true. Hadwe waited until next year, we had found the usurper's throne totteringunder him, and, on our landing, it would have toppled o'er of itself. "

"I have said already that we'll overset it with our hands, " Greyanswered. 

"How many hands have you?" asked a new voice, a crisp, discordant voice, much steeped in mockery. It was Nick Trenchard's. 

"Have we another here of Mr. Wilding's mind?" cried Grey, staring athim. 

"I am seldom of any other, " answered Trenchard. "We shall no' want forhands, " Ferguson assured him. "Had ye arrived earlier ye might have seenhow readily men enlisted. " He had risen and approached the window as hespoke; he pulled it open, to let in the full volume of sound that rosefrom the street below. 

"A Monmouth! A Monmouth!" voices shouted. 

Ferguson struck a theatrical posture, one long, lean arm stretchedoutward from the shoulder. 

"Ye hear them, sirs, " he cried, and there was a gleam of triumph in hiseye. "That is answer enough to those who want for faith, to the fecklessones that think the Lord will abandon those that have set out to serveHim, " and his glance comprehended Fletcher, Trenchard, and Wilding. 

The Duke stirred in his chair, stretched a hand for the bottle andfilled a glass. His mercurial spirits were rising again. He smiled atWilding. 

"I think you are answered, sir, " said he; "and I hope that like Fletcherthere, who shared your doubts, you will come to agree that since we haveset our hands to the plough we must go forward. "

"I have said that which I had it on my conscience to say. Your Grace mayhave found me over-ready with my counsel; at least you shall find me noless ready with my sword. "

"Odso! That is better. " Grey applauded, and his manner was almostpleasant. 

"I never doubted it, Mr. Wilding, " His Grace replied; "but I should liketo hear you say that you are convinced--at least in part, " and hewaved his hand towards the window. It was almost as if he pleaded forencouragement. In common with most men who came in contact with Wilding, he had felt the latent force of this man's nature, the strength that washidden under that calm surface, and the acuteness of the judgment thatmust be wedded to it. He longed to have the word of such a man that hisenterprise was not as desperate as Wilding had seemed at first to paintit. But Wilding made no concession to hopes or desires when he dealtwith facts. 

"Men will flock to you, no doubt; persecution has wearied many of thecountry-folk, and they are ready for revolt. But they are all untrainedin arms; they are rustics, not soldiers. If any of the men of positionwere to rally round your standard they would bring the militia, andothers in their train; they would bring arms, horses, and money, all ofwhich Your Grace must be sorely needing. "

"They will come, " answered the Duke. 

"Some, no doubt, " Wilding agreed; "but had it been next year, I wouldhave answered for it that it would have been no handful had ridden into welcome you. Scarce a gentleman of Devon or Somerset, of Dorset orHampshire, of Wiltshire or Cheshire but would have hastened to yourside. "

"They will come as it is, " the Duke repeated with an almost womanishinsistence, persisting in believing what he hoped, all evidence apart. 

The door opened and Ensign Cragg made his appearance. "May it pleaseYour Grace, " he announced, "Mr. Battiscomb has just arrived, and askswill Your Grace receive him to-night?"

"Battiscomb!" cried the Duke. Again his cheek flushed and his eyesparkled. "Aye, in Heaven's name, show him up. "

"And may the Lord refresh us with good tidings!" prayed Fergusondevoutly. 

Monmouth turned to Wilding. "It is the agent I sent ahead of me fromHolland to stir up the gentry from here to the Mersey. "

"I know, " said Wilding; "we conferred together some weeks since. "

"Now you shall see how idle are your fears, " the Duke promised him. 

And Wilding, who was better informed on that score, kept silence. 

CHAPTER XIV. HIS GRACE' IN COUNSEL

Mr. Christopher Battiscomb, that mild-mannered Dorchester gentleman, who, like Wade, was by vocation a lawyer, was ushered into the Duke'spresence. He was dressed in black, and, like Ferguson, was almostsmothered in a great periwig, which he may have adopted for purposes ofdisguise rather than adornment. Certainly he had none of that air ofthe soldier of fortune which distinguished his brother of the robe. Headvanced, hat in hand, towards the table, greeting the company about it, and Wilding observed that he wore silk stockings and shoes, upon whichthere rested not a speck of dust. Mr. Battiscomb was plainly a man wholoved his ease, since on such a day he had travelled to Lyme in a coach. The lawyer bent low to kiss the Duke's hand, and scarce was that formalhomage paid than questions poured upon him from Grey, from Fletcher, andfrom Ferguson. 

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, " the Duke entreated them, smiling; andremembering their manners they fell silent. 

As Wilding afterwards told Trenchard, they reminded him of a parcel ofsaucy lacqueys who take liberties with an upstart master for whom theyare wanting in respect. 

"I am glad to see you, Battiscomb, " said Monmouth, when quiet wasrestored, "and I trust I behold in you a bearer of good tidings. "

The lawyer's full face was usually pale; to-night it was, in addition, solemn, and the smile that haunted his lips was a courtesy smile thatexpressed neither mirth nor satisfaction. He cleared his throat, as ifnervous. He avoided the Duke's question as to the quality of the newshe brought by answering that he had made all haste to come to Lyme uponhearing of His Grace's landing. He was surprised, he said; as well hemight be, for the arrangement was that having done his work he was toreturn to Holland and report to Monmouth upon the feeling of the gentry. 

"But your news, Battiscomb, " the Duke insisted. "Aye, " put in Grey; "inHeaven's name, let us hear that. "

Again there was the little nervous cough from Battiscomb. "I have scarcehad time to complete my round of visits, " he temporized. "Your Gracehas taken us so by surprise. I... I was with Sir Walter Young at Colytonwhen the news of your landing came some few hours ago. " His voicefaltered and seemed to die away. 

"Well?" cried the Duke. His brows were drawn together. Already herealized that Battiscomb's tidings were not good, else would he behesitating less in uttering them. "Is Sir Walter with you, at least?"

"I grieve to say that he is not. "

"Not?" It was Grey who spoke, and he followed the ejaculation by anoath. "Why not?"

"He is following, no doubt?" suggested Fletcher. 

"We may hope, sirs, " answered Battiscomb, "that in a few days--when heshall have seen the zeal of the countryside--he will be cured of hispresent luke-warmness. " Thus, discreetly, did the man of law break thebad news he bore. 

Monmouth sank back into his chair like one who has lost some ofhis strength. "Lukewarmness?" he repeated dully. "Sir Walter Younglukewarm!"

"Even so, Your Grace--alas!" and Battiscomb sighed audibly. 

Ferguson's voice boomed forth again to startle them. "The ox knoweth hisowner, " he cried, "the ass his master's crib; but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider. "

Grey pushed the bottle contemptuously across the table to the parson. "Drink, man, and get sense, said he, and turned aside to questionBattiscomb touching others of the neighbourhood upon whom they haddepended. 

"What of Sir Francis Rolles?" he inquired. 

Battiscomb answered the question, addressing himself to the Duke. 

"Alas! Sir Francis, no doubt, would have been faithful to Your Grace, but, unfortunately, Sir Francis is in prison already. "

Deeper grew Monmouth's frown; his fingers drummed the table absently. Fletcher poured himself wine, his face inscrutable. Grey threw one legover the other and in a voice that was carefully careless he inquired, "And what of Sidney Clifford?"

"He is considering, " said Battiscomb. "I was to have seen him again atthe end of the month; meanwhile, he would take no resolve. "

"Lord Gervase Scoresby?" questioned Grey, less carelessly. 

Battiscomb half turned to him, then faced the Duke again as he madeanswer, "Mr. Wilding there, can tell you more concerning Lord Gervase. "

All eyes swept round to Wilding who sat in silence, listening;Monmouth's were laden with inquiry and some anxiety. Wilding shook hishead slowly, sadly. "You must not depend upon him, " he answered; "LordGervase was not yet ripe. A little longer and I think I must have wonhim for Your Grace. "

"Heaven help us!" exclaimed the Duke in petulant vexation. "Is no onecoming in?"

Ferguson swung a hand towards the still open window, drawing attentionto the sounds without. 

"Does Your Grace not hear, that ye can ask?" he cried, almostreproachfully; but they scarce heeded him, for Grey was inquiring ifMr. Strode might be depended upon to join, and that was a matter thatclaimed the greater attention. 

"I think, " said Battiscomb, "that he might have been depended upon. "

"Might have been?" questioned Fletcher, speaking now for the first timesince Battiscomb's arrival. 

"Like Sir Francis Rolles, he is in prison, " the lawyer explained. 

Monmouth leaned forward, and his young face looked Careworn now; hethrust a slender hand under the brown curls upon his brow. "Will youtell us, Mr. Battiscomb, upon what friends you think that we may count?"he said. 

Battiscomb pursed his lips a second, pondering. "I think, " said he, "that you may count upon Mr. Legge and Mr. Hooper, and possibly uponColonel Churchill, though I cannot say what following they will bring, if any. Mr. Trenchard, upon whom we counted for fifteen hundred men ofTaunton, has been obliged to fly the country to escape arrest. "

"We have heard that from Mr. Trenchard's cousin, " answered the Duke. "What of Prideaux, of Ford? Is he lukewarm?"

"I was unable to elicit a definite promise from him. But he wasfavourably disposed to Your Grace. "

His Grace made a gesture that seemed to dismiss Prideaux from theircalculations. "And Mr. Hucker, of Taunton?"

Battiscomb's manner grew yet more ill at ease. "Mr. Hucker himself, Iam sure, would place his sword at your disposal. But his brother is ared-hot Tory. "

"Well, well, " sighed the Duke, "I take it we must not make certain ofMr. Hucker. Are there any others besides Legge and Hooper upon whom youthink that we may reckon?"

"Lord Wiltshire, perhaps, " said Battiscomb, but with a lack ofassurance. 

"A plague on perhaps!" exclaimed Monmouth, growing irritable; "I wantyou to name the men of whom you are certain. "

Battiscomb stood silent for a moment, pondering. He looked almostfoolish, like a schoolboy who hesitates to confess his ignorance of theanswer to a question set him. 

Fletcher swung round, his grey eyes flashing angrily, his accent moreScottish than ever. 

"Is it that ye're certain o' none, Mr. Battiscomb?" he exclaimed. 

"Indeed, " said Battiscomb, "I think we may be fairly certain of Mr. Legge and Mr. Hooper. "

"And of none besides?" questioned Fletcher again. "Be these the onlyrepresentatives of the flower of England's nobility that is to flock tothe banner of the cause of England's freedom and religion?" Scorn wasstamped on every word of his question. 

Battiscomb spread his hands, raised his brows, and said nothing. 

"The Lord knows I do not say it exulting, " said Fletcher; "but I toldYour Grace yours was hardly the case of Henry the Seventh, as my LordGrey would have you believe. "

"We shall see, " snapped Grey, scowling at the Scot. "The people arecoming in hundreds--aye, in thousands--the gentry will follow; theymust. "

"Make not too sure, Your Grace--oh, make not too sure, " Wilding besoughtthe Duke. "As I have said, these hinds have nothing to lose but theirlives. "

"Faith, can a man lose more?" asked Grey contemptuously. He dislikedWilding by instinct, which was but a reciprocation of the feeling withwhich Wilding was inspired by him. 

"I think he can, " said Mr. Wilding quietly. "A man may lose honour, hemay plunge his family into ruin. These are things of more weight with agentleman than life. "

"Odds death!" blazed Grey, giving a free rein to his dislike of thiscalm gentleman. "Do you suggest that a man's honour is imperilled in HisGrace's service?"

"I suggest nothing, " answered Wilding, unmoved. "What I think, I state. If I thought a man's honour imperilled in this service, you would notsee me at this table now. I can make you no more convincing answer. "

Grey laughed unpleasantly, and Wilding, a faint tinge on hischeek-bones, measured him with a stern, intrepid look before which hislordship's shifty glance was observed to fall. Wilding's eye, havingachieved that much, passed from him to the Duke, and its expressionsoftened. 

"Your Grace sees, " said he, "how well founded were the fears I expressedthat your coming has been premature. "

"In God's name, what would you have me do?" cried the Duke, andpetulance made his voice unsteady. 

Mr. Wilding rose, moved out of his habitual calm by the earnestnessthat pervaded him. "It is not for me to say again what I would have YourGrace do. Your Grace has heard my views, and those of these gentlemen. It is for Your Grace to decide. "

"You mean whether I will go forward with this thing? What alternativehave I?"

"No alternative, " put in Grey with finality. "Nor is alternative needed. We'll carry this through in spite of timorous folk and birds of ill-omenthat croak to aifright us. "

"Our service is the service of the Lord, " cried Ferguson, returning fromthe window in the embrasure of which he had been standing; "the Lordcannot but destine it to prevail. "

"Ye said so before, " quoth Fletcher testily. "We need here men, money, and weapons--not divinity. "

"You are plainly infected with Mr. Wilding's disease, " sneered Grey. 

"Ford, " cried the Duke, who saw Wilding's eyes flash fire; "you go toofast. Mr. Wilding, you will not heed his lordship. "

"I should not be likely to do so, Your Grace, " answered Wilding, who hadresumed his seat. 

"What shall that mean?" quoth Grey, leaping to his feet. 

"Make it quite clear to him, Tony, " whispered Trenchard coaxingly; butMr. Wilding was not as lost as were these immediate followers of theDuke's to all sense of the respect due to His Grace. 

"I think, " said Wilding quietly, "that you have forgotten something. "

"Forgotten what?" bawled Grey. 

"His Grace's presence. "

His lordship turned crimson, his anger swelled to think that the veryterms of the rebuke precluded his allowing his feelings a free rein. 

Monmouth leaned forward. "Sit down, " he said to Grey, and Grey, solately called to the respect he owed His Grace, obeyed him. "You willboth promise me that this affair shall go no further. I know you willdo it if I ask you, particularly when you remember how few are thefollowers upon whom I may depend. I am not in case to lose either of youthrough foolish words uttered in a heat which, in both your hearts, isborn, I know, of your loyalty to me. "

Grey's coarse, elderly face took on a sulky look, his heavy lips werepouted, his glance sullen. Mr. Wilding, on the contrary, smiled acrossthe table. 

"For my part I very gladly give Your Grace the undertaking, " said he, and took care not to observe the sneer that altered the line of LordGrey's lips. His lordship, too, was forced to give the same pledge, andhe followed it up by inveighing sturdily against the suggestion thatthey should retreat. 

"I do protest, " he exclaimed, "that those who advise Your Grace to doanything but go forward boldly now, are evil counsellors. If you putback to Holland, you may leave every hope behind. There will be nosecond coming for you. Your influence will have been dissipated. Menwill not trust you another time. I do not think that even Mr. Wildingcan deny the truth of this. "

"I am by no means sure, " said Wilding, and Fletcher looked at him witheyes that were full of understanding. This sturdy Scot, the only soldierworthy of the name in the Duke's following, who, ever since the projecthad first been mooted, had held out against it, counselling delay, wasin sympathy with Mr. Wilding. 

Monmouth rose, his face anxious, his voice fretful. "There can be noretreat for me, gentlemen. Though many that we depended upon are nothere to join us, yet let us remember that Heaven is on our side, andthat we are come to fight in the sacred cause of religion and a nation'semancipation from the thraldom of popery, oppression, and superstition. Let this dispel such doubts as yet may linger in our minds. "

His words had a brave sound, but, when analysed, they but formed aparaphrase of what Grey and Ferguson had said. It was his destiny to bea mere echo of the minds of other men, just as he was now the toolof these two, one of whom plotted, seemingly, because plotting was adisease that had got into his blood; the other for reasons that may havebeen of ambition or of revenge--no man will ever know for certain. 

In the chamber they shared, Trenchard and Mr. Wilding reviewed thatnight the scene so lately enacted, in which one had taken an activepart, the other been little more than a spectator. Trenchard had comefrom the Duke's presence entirely out of conceit with Monmouth andhis cause, contemptuous of Ferguson, angry with Grey, and indifferenttowards Fletcher. 

"I am committed, and I'll not draw back, " said he; "but I tell you, Anthony, my heart is not confederate with my hand in this. Bah!" herailed. "We serve a man of straw, a Perkin, a very pope of a fellow. "

Mr. Wilding sighed. "He's scarce the man for such an undertaking, " saidhe. "I fear we have been misled. "

Trenchard was drawing off his boots. He paused in the act. "Aye, " saidhe, "misled by our blindness. What else, after all, should we haveexpected of him?" he cried contemptuously. "The Cause is good; but itsleader---Pshaw! Would you have such a puppet as that on the throne ofEngland?"

"He does not aim so high. "

"Be not so sure. We shall hear more of the black box anon, and of themarriage certificate it contains. 'Twould not surprise me if they wereto produce forgeries of the one and the other to prove his father'smarriage to Lucy Walters. Anthony, Anthony! To what a business are wewedded?"

Mr. Wilding, already abed, turned impatiently. "Things cried aloud to beredressed; a leader was necessary, and none other offered. That is thewhole story. But our chance is slender, and it might have been great. "

"That rake-hell, Ford, Lord Grey has made it so, " grumbled Trenchard, busy with his stockings. "This sudden coming is his work. You heard whatFletcher said--how he opposed it when first it was urged. " He paused, and looked up suddenly. "Blister me!" he cried, "is it his lordship'spurpose, think you, to work the ruin of Monmouth?"

"What are you saying, Nick?"

"There are certain rumours current touching His Grace and Lady Grey. Aman like Grey might well resort to some such scheme of vengeance. "

"Get to sleep, Nick, " said Wilding, yawning; "you are dreaming already. Such a plan would be over elaborate for his lordship's mind. It wouldask a villainy parallel with your own. "

Trenchard climbed into bed, and settled himself under the coverlet. 

"Maybe, " said he, "and maybe not; but I think that were it not for thatcursed business of the letter Richard Westmacott stole from us, I shouldbe going my ways to-morrow and leaving His Grace of Monmouth to go his. "

"Aye, and I'd go with you, " answered Wilding. "I've little taste forsuicide; but we are in it now. "

"'Twas a sad pity you meddled this morning in that affair at Taunton, "mused Trenchard wistfully. "A sadder pity you were bitten with a tastefor matrimony, " he added thoughtfully, and blew out the rushlight. 

CHAPTER XV. LYME OF THE KING

On the next day, which was Friday, the country folk continued to comein, and by evening Monmouth's forces amounted to a thousand foot anda hundred and fifty horse. The men were armed as fast as they wereenrolled, and scarce a field or quiet avenue in the district butresounded to the tramp of feet, the rattle of weapons, and the sharporders of the officers who, by drilling, were converting this rawmaterial into soldiers. On the Saturday the rally of the Duke's standardwas such that Monmouth threw off at last the gloomy forebodings that hadburdened his soul since that meeting on Thursday night. Wade, Holmes, Foulkes, and Fox were able to set about forming the first fourregiments--the Duke's, and the Green, the White, and the Yellow. Monmouth's spirits continued to rise, for he had been joined by nowby Legge and Hooper--the two upon whom Battiscomb had counted--and byColonel Joshua Churchill, of whom Battiscomb had been less certain. Captain Matthews brought news that Lord Wiltshire and the gentlemenof Hampshire might be expected if they could force their way throughAlbemarle's militia, which was already closing round Lyme. 

Long before evening willing fellows were being turned away in hundredsfor lack of weapons. In spite of Monmouth's big talk on landing, and ofthe rumour that had gone out, that he could arm thirty thousand men, hisstock of arms was exhausted by a mere fifteen hundred. Trenchard, who now held a Major's rank in the horse attached to the Duke's ownregiment, was loud in his scorn of this state of things; Mr. Wilding wassad, and his depression again spread to the Duke after a few words hadpassed between them towards evening. Fletcher was for heroic measures. He looked only ahead now, like the good soldier that he was; and, already, he began to suggest a bold dash for Exeter, for weapons, horses, and possibly the militia as well, for they had ample evidencethat the men composing it might easily be induced to desert to theDuke's side. 

The suggestion was one that instantly received Mr. Wilding's heartiestapproval. It seemed to fill him suddenly with hope, and he spoke ofit, indeed, as an inspiration which, if acted upon, might yet save thesituation. The Duke was undecided as ever; he was too much troubledweighing the chances for and against, and he would decide upon nothinguntil he had consulted Grey and the others. He would summon a councilthat night, he promised, and the matter should be considered. 

But that council was never to be called, for Andrew Fletcher'sassociation with the rebellion was drawing rapidly to its close, andthere was that to happen in the next few hours which should counteractall the encouragement with which the Duke had been fortified that day. Towards evening little Heywood Dare, the Taunton goldsmith, who hadlanded at Seatown and gone out with the news of the Duke's arrival, rodeinto Lyme with forty horse, mounted, himself, upon a beautiful chargerwhich was destined to be the undoing of him. 

News came, too, that the Dorset militia were at Bridport, eight milesaway, whereupon Wilding and Fletcher postponed all further suggestion ofthe dash for Exeter, proposing that in the mean time a night attack uponBridport might result well. For once Lord Grey was in agreement withthem, and so the matter was decided. Fletcher went down to arm andmount, and all the world knows the story of the foolish, ill-fatedquarrel which robbed Monmouth of two of his most valued adherents. By ill-luck the Scot's eyes lighted upon the fine horse that Dare hadbrought from Ford Abbey. It occurred to him that nothing could be morefitting than that the best man should sit upon the best horse, and heforthwith led the beast from the stables and was about to mount whenDare came forth to catch him in the very act. The goldsmith was a rude, peppery fellow, who did not mince his words. 

"What a plague are you doing with that horse?" he cried. 

Fletcher paused, one foot in the stirrup, and looked the fellow up anddown. "I am mounting it, " said he, and proceeded to do as he said. 

But Dare caught him by the tails of his coat and brought him back toearth. 

"You are making a mistake, Mr. Fletcher, " he cried angrily. "That horseis mine. "

Fletcher, whose temper was by no means of the most peaceful, kepthimself with difficulty in hand at the indignity Dare offered him. 

"Yours?" quoth he. 

"Aye, mine. I brought it from Ford Abbey myself. "

"For the Duke's service, " Fletcher reminded him. "For my own, sir; formy own I would have you know. " And brushing the Scot aside, he caughtthe bridle, and sought to wrench it from Fletcher's hand. 

But Fletcher maintained his hold. "Softly, Mr. Dare, " said he. "Ye'rea trifle o'er true to your name, as you once told his late Majestyyourself. "

"Take your hands from my horse, " Dare shouted, very angry. 

Several loiterers in the yard gathered round to watch the scene, cullingdiversion from it and speculating upon the conclusion it might have. Onerash young fellow offered audibly to lay ten to one that Paymaster Darewould have the best of the argument. 

Dare overheard, and was spurred on. 

"I will, by God!" he answered. "Come, Mr. Fletcher!" And he shook thebridle again. 

There was a dull flush showing through the tan of Fletcher's skin. "Mr. Dare, " said he, "this horse is no more yours than mine. It is theDuke's, and I, as one o' the leaders, claim it in the Duke's service. "

"Aye, sir, " cried an onlooker, encouraging Fletcher, and did themischief. It so goaded Dare to have his antagonist in this triflingmatter supported that he utterly lost his head. 

"I have said the horse is mine, and I repeat it. Let go the bridle--letit go!" Still, Fletcher, striving hard to keep his calm, clung to thereins. "Let it go, you damned, thieving Scot!" screamed Dare in a fury, and struck Fletcher with his whip. 

It was unfortunate for them both that he should have had that switch inhis hand at such a time, but more unfortunate still was it that Fletchershould have had a pistol in his belt. The Scot dropped the bridle atlast; dropped it to pluck forth the weapon. 

"Hi! I did not... " began Dare, who had stood appalled by what he haddone in the second or two that had passed since he had delivered theblow. The rest of his sentence was drowned in the report of Fletcher'spistol, and Dare dropped dead on the rough cobbles of the yard. 

Ferguson has left it on record--and, presumably, he had Fletcher'sword for it--that it was no part of the Scot's intent to do Mr. Darea mischief. He had but drawn the pistol to intimidate him into bettermanners, but in his haste he accidentally pulled the trigger. 

However that may be, there was Dare as dead as the stones on which helay, and Fletcher with a smoking pistol in his hand. 

After that all was confusion. Fletcher was seized by those who hadwitnessed the deed; there was none thought it an accident; indeed, they were all ready enough to say that Fletcher had received excessiveprovocation. He was haled to the presence of the Duke with whomwere Grey and Wilding at the time; and old Dare's son--an ensign inGoodenough's company--came clamouring for vengeance backed by suchgoodly numbers that the distraught Duke was forced to show at least theoutward seeming of it. 

Wilding, who knew the value of this Scottish soldier of fortune who hadseen so much service, strenuously urged his enlargement. It was not atime to let the fortunes of a cause suffer through such an act as this, deplorable though it might be. The evidence showed that Fletcher hadbeen provoked; he had been struck, a thing that might well justify theanger in the heat of which he had done this thing. Grey was stolid andsilent, saying nothing either for or against the man who had dividedwith him under the Duke the honours of the supreme command. 

Monmouth, white and horror-stricken, sat and listened first toWilding, then to Dare, and lastly to Fletcher himself. But it was youngDare--Dare and his followers, who prevailed. They were too numerous andturbulent, and they must at all costs be conciliated, or there was notelling to what extremes they might not go. And so there was an end tothe share of Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun in this undertaking--the end ofthe only man who was of any capacity to pilot it through the troubledwaters that lay before it. Monmouth placed him under arrest and sent himaboard the frigate again, ordering her captain to sail at once. That wasthe utmost Monmouth could do to save him. 

Wilding continued to plead with the Duke after Fletcher's removal, andto such good purpose that at last Monmouth determined that Fletchershould rejoin them later, when the affair should have blown over, andhe sent word accordingly to the Scot. Even in this there weremanifestations of antagonism between Mr. Wilding and Lord Grey, and italmost seemed enough that Wilding should suggest a course for Lord Greyinstantly to oppose it. 

The effects of Fletcher's removal were not long in following. On themorrow came the Bridport affair, and Grey's shameful conduct when, hadhe stood his ground, victory must have been assured the Duke's forcesinstead of just that honourable retreat by which Colonel Wade sogallantly saved the situation. Mr. Wilding did not mince his words inputting it that Grey had run away. 

In his room at the George Inn, Monmouth, deeply distressed, askedWilding and Colonel Matthews what action he should take in thematter--how deal with Grey. 

"There is no other general in Europe would ask that, Your Grace, "answered Matthews gravely, and Mr. Wilding added without an instant'shesitation that His Grace's course was plain. 

"It would be an unwise thing to expose the troops to the chance of moresuch happenings. "

Monmouth dismissed them and sent for Grey, and he seemed resolved todeal with him as he deserved. Yet an hour later, when Wilding, Matthews, Wade, and the others were ordered to attend the Duke in council, therewas his lordship seemingly on as good terms as ever with His Grace. 

They were assembled to discuss the next step which it might be advisableto take, for the militia was closing in around them, and to remainlonger in Lyme would be to be caught there as in a trap. It was Greywho advanced the first suggestion, his assurance no whit abated bythe shameful thing that had befallen, by the cowardice which he hadbetrayed. 

"That we must quit Lyme we are all agreed, " said he. "I would proposethat Your Grace march north to Gloucester, where our Cheshire friendswill assemble to meet us. "

Colonel Matthews reminded the Duke of Andrew Fletcher's proposal thatthey should make a raid upon Exeter with a view to seizing arms, ofwhich they stood so sorely in need. 

This Mr. Wilding was quick to support. "Not only that, Your Grace, " hesaid, "but I am confident that with very little inducement the greaterportion of the militia will desert to us as soon as we appear. 

"What assurance can you give of that?" asked Grey, his heavy lipprotruded. 

"I take it, " said Mr. Wilding, "that in such matters no man can givean assurance of anything. I speak with knowledge of the country and thefolk from which the militia is enlisted. I offer it as my opinion thatthe militia is favourably disposed to Your Grace. I can do no more. 

"If Mr. Wilding says so, Your Grace, " put in Matthews, "I have no doubthe has sound reasons upon which to base his opinion. 

"No doubt, " said Monmouth. "Indeed, I had already thought of the stepthat you suggest, Colonel Matthews, and what Mr. Wilding says causes meto look upon it still more favourably. "

Grey frowned. "Consider, Your Grace, " he said earnestly, "that you arein no case to fight at present. "

"What fighting do you suggest there would be?" asked the Duke. 

"There is Albemarle between us and Exeter. "

"But with the militia, " Wilding reminded him; "and if the militiadeserts him for Your Grace, in what case will Albemarle find himself?"

"And if the militia does not desert? If you should be proven wrong, sir?What then? What then?" asked Grey. 

"Aye--true--what then, Mr. Wilding?" quoth the Duke, already wavering. 

Wilding considered a moment, all eyes upon him. "Even then, " said hepresently, "I do maintain that in this dash for Exeter lies Your Grace'sgreatest chance of success. We can deliver battle if need be. Already weare three thousand strong... "

Grey interrupted him rudely. "Nay, " he insisted. "You must not presumeupon that. We are not yet fit to fight. It is His Grace's business atpresent to drill and discipline his troops and induce more friends tojoin him. "

"Already we are turning men away because we have no weapons to put intotheir hands, " Wilding reminded them, and a murmur of approval ran round, which but served to anger Grey the more, to render more obstinate hisopposition. 

"But all that come in are not unprovided, " was his lordship's retort. "There are the Hampshire gentry and their friends. They will come armed, and so will others if we have patience. 

"Aye, " said Wilding, "and if you have patience enough there will betroops the Parliament will send against us. They, too, will be armed, Ican assure your lordship. "

"In God's name let us keep from wrangling, " the Duke besought them. "Itis difficult enough to determine for the best. If the dash to Exeterwere successful... "

"It cannot be, " Grey interrupted again. 

The liberties he took with Monmouth and which Monmouth permitted himmight well be a source of wonder to all who heard them. Monmouth pausednow in his interrupted speech and looked about him a trifle wearily. 

"It seems idle to insist, " said Mr. Wilding; "such is the temper of YourGrace's counsellors, that we get no further than contradictions. " Grey'sbold eyes were upon Wilding as he spoke. "I would remind Your Grace, and I am sure that many present will agree with me, that in a desperateenterprise a sudden unexpected movement will often strike terror. "

"That is true, " said Monmouth, but apparently without enthusiasm, andhaving approved what was urged on one side, he looked at Grey, as ifwaiting to hear what might be said on the other. His indecision waspitiful--tragical, indeed, in the leader of so bold an enterprise. 

"We should do better, I think, " said Grey, "to deal with the facts as weknow them. "

"It is what I am endeavouring to do, Your Grace, " protested Wilding, a note of despair in his voice. "Perhaps some other gentleman will putforward better counsel than mine. "

"Aye! In Heaven's name let us hope so, " snorted Grey; and Monmouth, catching the sudden flash of Mr. Wilding's eye, set a hand upon hislordship's arm as if to urge him to be gentler. But he continued, "Whenmen talk of striking terror by sudden movements they build on air. "

"I had hardly thought to hear that from your lordship, " said Mr. Wilding, and he permitted himself that tight-lipped smile that gave hisface so wicked a look. 

"And why not?" asked Grey, stupidly unsuspicious. 

"Because I had thought you might have concluded otherwise from your ownexperience at Bridport this morning. "

Grey got angrily to his feet, rage and shame flushing his face, and itneeded Ferguson and the Duke to restore him to some semblance of calm. Indeed, it may well be that it was to complete this that His Gracedecided there and then that they should follow Grey's advice and go byway of Taunton, Bridgwater, and Bristol to Gloucester. He was, like allweak men, of conspicuous mental short-sightedness. The matter of themoment was ever of greater importance to him than any result that mightattend it in the future. 

He insisted that Wilding and Grey should shake hands before the breakingup of that most astounding council, and as he had done last night, henow again imposed upon them his commands that they must not allow thismatter to go further. 

Mr. Wilding paved the way for peace by making an apology withinlimitations. 

"If, in my zeal to serve Your Grace to the best of my ability, I havesaid that which Lord Grey thinks fit to resent, I would bid him considermy motive rather than my actual words. "

But when all had gone save Ferguson, the chaplain approached thepreoccupied and distressed Duke with counsel that Mr. Wilding should besent away from the army. 

"Else there'll be trouble 'twixt him and Grey, " the plotting parsonforetold. "We'll be having a repetition of the unfortunate Fletcher andDare affair, and I think that has cost Your Grace enough already. "

"Do you suggest that I dismiss Wilding?" cried the Duke. "You know hisinfluence, and the bad impression his removal would leave. "

Ferguson stroked his long lean jaw. "No, no, " said he; "all I suggest isthat you find Mr. Wilding work to do elsewhere. "

"Elsewhere?" the Duke questioned. "Where else?"

"I have thought of that, too. Send him to London to see Danvers and tostir up your friends there. And, " he added, lowering his voice, "givehim discretion to see Sunderland if he thinks well. "

The proposition pleased Monmouth, and it seemed to please Mr. Wildingno less when, having sent for him, the Duke communicated it to him inFerguson's presence. 

Upon this mission Mr. Wilding set out that very night, leaving NickTrenchard in despair at being separated from him at a time when thereseemed to be every chance that such a separation might be eternal. 

Monmouth and Ferguson may have conceived they did a wise thing inremoving a man who was instinctively spoiling for a little sword-playwith my Lord Grey. It is odds that had he remained, the brewing stormbetween the pair would have come to a head. Had it done so, it is morethan likely, from what we know of Mr. Wilding's accomplishments, thathe had given Lord Grey his quietus. And had that happened, it is tobe inferred from history that it is possible the Duke of Monmouth'srebellion might have had a less disastrous issue. 

CHAPTER XVI. PLOTS AND PLOTTERS

Mr. Wilding left Monmouth's army at Lyme on Sunday, the 14th ofJune, and rejoined it at Bridgwater exactly three weeks later. In themeanwhile a good deal had happened, yet the happenings on every hand hadfallen far short of the expectations aroused in Mr. Wilding's mind, now by one circumstance, now by another. In reaching London he hadexperienced no difficulty. Men travelling in that direction were notsubjected to the scrutiny that fell to the share of those travellingfrom it towards the West, or, rather, to the scrutiny ordained by theGovernment; for Wilding had more than one opportunity ofobserving how very lax and indifferent were the constables andtything-men--particularly in Somerset and Wiltshire--in the performanceof this duty. Wayfarers were questioned as a matter of form, but in nocase did Wilding hear of any one being detained upon suspicion. Thiswas calculated to raise his drooping hopes, pointing as it did to thegeneral favouring of Monmouth that was toward. He grew less despondenton the score of the Duke's possible ultimate success, and he came tohope that the efforts he went to exert would not be fruitless. 

But rude were the disappointments that awaited him in town. London, likethe rest of the country, was not ready. There were not wanting men whofavoured Monmouth; but no rising had been organized, and the Duke'spartisans were not disposed to rashness. 

Wilding lodged at Covent Garden, in a house recommended to him byColonel Danvers, and there--an outlaw himself--he threw himself with awill into his task. He heard of the burning of Monmouth's Declaration bythe common hangman at the Royal Exchange, and of the bill passed bythe Commons to make it treason for any to assert that Lucy Walters wasmarried to the late King. He attended meetings at the "Bull's Head, "in Bishopsgate, where he met Disney and Danvers, Payton and Lock; butthough they talked and argued at prodigious length, they did naughtbesides. Danvers, who was their hope in town, definitely refused to havea hand in anything that was not properly organized, and in common withthe others urged that they should wait until Cheshire had risen, as wasreported that it must. 

Meanwhile, troops had gone west under Kirke and Churchill, and theParliament had voted nearly half a million for the putting down of therebellion. London was flung into a fever of excitement by the newsthat was reaching it. The position was not quite as Monmouth'sadvisers--before coming over from Holland--had represented that it wouldbe. They had thought that out of fear of tumults about his own person, King James would have been compelled to keep near him what troops hehad, sparing none to be sent against Monmouth. This, King James had notdone; he had all but emptied London of soldiery, and, considering thegeneral disaffection, no moment could have been more favourable thanthis for a rising in London itself. The confusion that must haveresulted from the recalling of troops would have given Monmouth notonly a mighty grip of the West, but would have heartened those who--likeSunderland himself--were sitting on the wall, to declare themselves forthe Protestant Champion. This Wilding saw, and almost frenziedly did heurge it upon Danvers that all London needed at the moment was a resoluteleader. But the Colonel still held back; indeed, he had neither truthnor valour; he was timid, and used deceit to mask his timidity; he urgedfrivolous reasons for inaction, and when Wilding waxed impatient withhim, he suggested that Wilding himself should head the rising if he wereso confident of its success. And Wilding would have done it but that, being unknown in London, he had no reason to suppose that men wouldflock to him if he raised the Duke's banner. 

Later, when the excitement grew and rumours ran through town thatMonmouth had now a following of twenty thousand men and that the King'sforces were falling back before him, and discontent was rife at thecommissioning of Catholic lords to levy troops, Wilding again pressedthe matter upon Danvers. Surely no moment could be more propitious. But again he received the same answer, that Danvers had lacked time toorganize matters sufficiently; that the Duke's coming had taken him bysurprise. 

Lastly came the news that Monmouth had been crowned at Taunton amid thewildest enthusiasm, and that there were now in England two men eachof whom called himself King James the Second. This was the excusethat Danvers needed to be rid of a business he had not the courage totransact to a finish. He swore that he washed his hands of Monmouth'saffairs; that the latter had broken faith with him and the promisehe had made him in having himself proclaimed King. He protested thatMonmouth had done ill, and prophesied that his act would alienate fromhim the numerous republicans who, like Danvers, had hitherto looked tohim for the country's salvation. Wilding himself was appalled at thenews for Monmouth was indeed going further than men had been given tounderstand. Nevertheless, for his own sake, in very self-defence now, if out of no motives of loyalty to the Duke, he must urge forward thefortunes of this man. He had high words with Danvers, and the two mighthave quarrelled before long but for the sudden arrest of Disney, whichthrew Danvers into such a panic that he fled incontinently, abandoningin body, as he already appeared to have abandoned in spirit, theMonmouth Cause. 

The arrest of Disney struck a chill into Wilding. From his lodging atCovent Garden he had communicated cautiously with Sunderland a few daysafter his arrival, building upon certain information he had receivedfrom the Duke at parting as to Sunderland's attachment to the Cause. Hehad carefully chosen his moment for making this communication, havinga certain innate mistrust of a man who so obviously as Sunderland wasrunning with the hare and hunting with the hounds. He had sent a letterto the Secretary of State when London was agog with the Axminsteraffair, and the tale--of which Sir Edward Phelips wrote to ColonelBerkeley as "the shamefullest story that you ever heard"--of howAlbemarle's forces and the Somerset militia had run before Monmouth inspite of their own overwhelming numbers. This promised ill for James, particularly when it was perceived as perceived it was--that thisrunning away was not all cowardice, not all "the shamefullest story"that Phelips accounted it. It was an expression of good-will towardsMonmouth on the part of the militia of the West, and it was confidentlyexpected that the next news would be that these men who had decampedbefore him would presently be found to have ranged themselves under hisbanner. 

Sunderland had given no sign that he had received Wilding'scommunication. And Wilding drew his own contemptuous conclusions of theSecretary of State's cautious policy. It was a fortnight later--whenLondon was settling down again from the diversion of excitement createdby the news of Argyle's defeat in Scotland--before Mr. Wilding attemptedto approach Sunderland again. He awaited a favourable opportunity, andthis he had when London was thrown into consternation by the alarmingnews of the Duke of Somerset's urgent demand for reinforcements. Unlesshe had them, he declared, the whole country was lost, as he could notget the militia to stand, whilst Lord Stawell's regiment were all fledand mostly gone over to the rebels at Bridgwater. 

This was grave news, but it was followed in a few days by graver. Theaffair at Philips Norton was exaggerated by report into a wholesaledefeat of the loyal army, and it was reported--on, apparently, such goodauthority that it received credence in quarters that might have waitedfor official news--that the Duke of Albemarle had been slain by themilitia which had mutinied and deserted to Monmouth. 

It was while this news was going round that Sunderland--in a moment ofpanic--at last vouchsafed an answer to Mr. Wilding's letters, and hevouchsafed it in person, just as Wilding--particularly since Disney'sarrest--was beginning to lose all hope. He came one evening to Mr. Wilding's lodgings in Covent Garden, unattended and closely muffled, andhe remained closeted with the Duke's ambassador for nigh upon an hour, at the end of which he entrusted Mr. Wilding with a letter for the Duke, very brief but entirely to the point, which expressed him Monmouth'smost devoted servant. 

"You may well judge, sir, " he had said at parting, "that this is notsuch a letter as I should entrust to any man. "

Mr. Wilding had bowed gravely, and gravely he had expressed himselfsensible of the exceptional honour his lordship did him by such a trust. 

"And I depend upon you, sir, as you are a man of honour, to take suchmeasures as will ensure against its falling into any but the hands forwhich it is intended. "

"As I am a man of honour, you may depend upon me, " Mr. Wilding solemnlypromised. "Will your lordship give me three lines above your signaturethat will save me from molestation; thus you will facilitate thepreservation of this letter. "

"I had already thought of that, " was Sunderland's answer, and he placedbefore Mr. Wilding three lines of writing signed and sealed whichenjoined all, straitly, in the King's name to suffer the bearer to passand repass and to offer him no hindrance. 

On that they shook hands and parted, Sunderland to return to Whitehalland his obedience to the King James whom he was ready to betray assoon as he saw profit for himself in the act, Mr. Wilding to return toSomerset to the King James in whom his faith was scant, indeed, but withwhom his fortunes were irrevocably bound up. 

Meanwhile, Monmouth was back in Bridgwater, his second occupationof which town was not being looked upon with unmixed favour. Theinhabitants had suffered enough already from his first visit; his returnthere, after the Philips Norton affair of which such grossly exaggeratedreports had reached London, and which, in point of fact, had been littlebetter than a drawn battle--had been looked upon with dread by some, with disfavour by others, and with dismay by not a few who viewed inthis an augury of failure. 

Now Sir Rowland Blake, who since his pursuit of Mr. Wilding andTrenchard on the occasion of their flight from Taunton had--in spiteof his failure on that occasion--been more or less in the service ofAlbemarle and the loyal army, saw in this indisposition towards Monmouthof so many of Bridgwater's inhabitants great possibilities of profit tohimself. 

He was at Lupton House, the guest of his friend Richard Westmacott, andthe open suitor of Ruth, entirely ignoring the circumstance that she wasnominally the wife of Mr. Wilding--this to the infinite chagrin of MissHorton, who saw all her scheming likely to go for nothing. 

In his heart of hearts it was a matter of not the slightest consequenceto Sir Rowland whether James Stuart or James Scott occupied the throneof England. His own affairs gave him more than enough to think of, andthese disturbances in the West were very welcome to him, since theyrendered difficult any attempt to trace him on the part of his Londoncreditors. It happens, however, very commonly that enmity to anindividual will lead to enmity to the cause which that individualespouses. Thus may it have been with Sir Rowland. His hatred of Wildingand his keen desire to see Wilding destroyed had made him a zealouspartisan of the loyal cause. Richard Westmacott, easily swayed andoverborne by the town rake, whose vices made him seem to Richard theembodiment of all that is splendid and enviable in man, had becomepractically the baronet's tool, now that he had abandoned Monmouth'sCause. Sir Rowland had not considered it beneath the dignity of his nameand station to discharge in Bridgwater certain functions that made himmore or less a spy. And so reliable had been the information he had sentFeversham and Albemarle during Monmouth's first occupation of the town, that he had won by now their complete confidence. 

The second occupation and its unpopularity with many of those whoearlier--if lukewarm--had been partisans of the Duke, swelled the numberof loyally inclined people in Bridgwater, and suddenly inspiredSir Rowland with a scheme by which at a blow he might snuff out therebellion. 

This scheme involved the capture of the Duke, and the reward of successshould mean far more to Blake than the five thousand pounds at which thevalue of the Duke's head had already been fixed by Parliament. He neededa tool for this, and he even thought of Westmacott and Lupton House, butafterwards preferred a Mr. Newlington, who was in better case to assisthim. This Newlington, an exceedingly prosperous merchant and one of therichest men perhaps in the whole West of England, looked with extremedisfavour upon Monmouth, whose advent had paralyzed his industries to anextent that was costing him a fine round sum of money weekly. 

He was now in alarm lest the town of Bridgwater should be made topay dearly for having harboured the Protestant Duke--he had no faithwhatever in the Protestant Duke's ultimate prevailing--and that he, as one of the town's most prominent and prosperous citizens, mightbe amongst the heaviest sufferers in spite of his neutrality. Thisneutrality he observed because it was hardly safe in that disaffectedtown for a man to proclaim himself a loyalist. 

To him Sir Rowland expounded his audacious plan... He sought out themerchant in his handsome mansion on the night of that Friday which hadwitnessed Monmouth's return, and the merchant, honoured by the visit ofthis gallant--ignorant as he was of the gentleman's fame in town--placedhimself entirely and instantly at his disposal, though the hour waslate. Sounding him carefully, and finding the fellow most amenableto any scheme that should achieve the salvation of his purse andindustries, Blake boldly laid his plan before him. Startled at first, Mr. Newlington upon considering it became so enthusiastic that he hailedSir Rowland as his deliverer, and heartily promised his cooperation. Indeed, it was Mr. Newlington who was, himself, to take the first step. 

Well pleased with his evening's work, Sir Rowland went home to LuptonHouse and to bed. In the morning he broached the matter to Richard. Hehad all the vanity of the inferior not only to lessen the appearance ofhis inferiority, but to clothe himself in a mantle of importance; and itwas this vanity urged him to acquaint Richard with his plans in the verypresence of Ruth. 

They had broken their fast, and they still lingered in the dining-room, the largest and most important room in Lupton House. It was cool andpleasant here in contrast to the heat of the July sun, which, followingupon the late wet weather, beat fiercely on the lawn, the window-doorsto which stood open. The cloth had been raised, and Diana and her motherhad lately left the room. Ruth, in the window-seat, at a small ovaltable, was arranging a cluster of roses in an old bronze bowl. SirRowland, his stiff short figure carefully dressed in a suit of browncamlet, his fair wig very carefully curled, occupied a tall-backedarmchair near the empty fireplace. Richard, perched on the table's edge, swung his shapely legs idly backwards and forwards and cogitated upon apretext to call for a morning draught of last October's ale. 

 Ruth completed her task with the roses and turned her eyes upon herbrother. 

"You are not looking well, Richard, " she said, which was true enough, for much hard drinking was beginning to set its stamp on Richard, andyoung as he was, his insipidly fair face began to display a bloatednessthat was exceedingly unhealthy. 

"Oh, I am well enough, " he answered almost peevishly, for theseallusions to his looks were becoming more frequent than he savoured. 

"Gad!" cried Sir Rowland's deep voice, "you'll need to be well. I havework for you to-morrow, Dick. "

Dick did not appear to share his enthusiasm. "I am sick of the work youdiscover for us, Rowland, " he answered ungraciously. 

But Blake showed no resentment. "Maybe you'll find the present task moreto your taste. If it's deeds of derring-do you pine for, I am the manto satisfy you. " He smiled grimly, his bold grey eyes glancing across atRuth, who was observing him, listening. 

Richard sneered, but offered him no encouragement to proceed. 

"I see, " said Blake, "that I shall have to tell you the whole storybefore you'll credit me. Shalt have it, then. But... " and he checked onthe word, his face growing serious, his eye wandering to the door, "Iwould not have it overheard--not for a king's ransom, " which was moreliterally true than he may have intended it to be. 

Richard looked over his shoulder carelessly at the door. 

"We have no eavesdroppers, " he said, and his voice bespoke his contemptof the gravity of this news of which Sir Rowland made so much inanticipation. He was acquainted with Sir Rowland's ways, and theimportance of them. "What are you considering?" he inquired. 

"To end the rebellion, " answered Blake, his voice cautiously lowered. 

Richard laughed outright. "There are several others consideringthat--notably His Majesty King James, the Duke of Albemarle, and theEarl of Feversham. Yet they don't appear to achieve it. "

"It is in that particular, " said Blake complacently, "that I shalldiffer from them. " He turned to Ruth, eager to engage her in theconversation, to flatter her by including her in the secret. Knowing theloyalist principles she entertained, he had no reason to fear that hisplans could other than meet her approval. "What do you say, MistressRuth?" Presuming upon his friendship with her brother, he had taken tocalling her by that name in preference to the other which he could notbring himself to give her. "Is it not an object worthy of a gentleman'sendeavour?"

"If you can save so many poor people from encompassing their ruin byfollowing that rash young man the Duke of Monmouth, you will indeed bedoing a worthy deed. "

Blake rose, and made her a leg. "Madam, " said he, "had aught beenwanting to cement my resolve, your words would supply it to me. My planis simplicity itself. I propose to capture Monmouth and his principalagents, and deliver them over to the King. And that is all. "

"A mere nothing, " croaked Richard. 

"Could more be needed?" quoth Blake. "Once the rebel army is deprived ofits leaders it will melt and dissolve of itself. Once the Duke is in thehands of his enemies there will be nothing left to fight for. Is it notshrewd?"

"You are telling us the object rather than the plan, " Ruth reminded him. "If the plan is as good as the object... "

"As good?" he echoed, chuckling. "You shall judge. " And briefly hesketched for her the springe he was setting with the help of Mr. Newlington. "Newlington is rich; the Duke is in straits for money. Newlington goes to-day to offer him twenty thousand pounds; and the Dukeis to do him the honour of supping at his house to-morrow night to fetchthe money. It is a reasonable request for Mr. Newlington to make underthe circumstances, and the Duke cannot--dare not refuse it. "

"But how will that advance your project?" Ruth inquired, for Blake hadpaused again, thinking that the rest must be obvious. 

"In Mr. Newlington's orchard I propose to post a score or so of men, well armed. Oh! I shall run no risks of betrayal by engaging Bridgwaterfolk. I'll get the fellows I need from General Feversham. We takeMonmouth at supper, as quietly as may be, with what gentlemen happen tohave accompanied him. We bind and gag the Duke, and we convey him withall speed and quiet out of Bridgwater. Feversham shall send a troop toawait me a mile or so from the town on the road to Weston Zoyland. Weshall join them with our captive, and thus convey him to the RoyalistGeneral. Could aught be simpler or more infallible?"

Richard had slipped from the table. He had changed his mind on thesubject of the importance of the business Blake had in view. Excited byit, he clapped his friend on the back approvingly. 

"A great plan!" he cried. "Is it not, Ruth?"

"It should be the means of saving hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives, "said she, "and so it deserves to prosper. But what of the officers whomay be with the Duke?" she inquired. 

"There are not likely to be many--half a dozen, say. We shall have tomake short work of them, lest they should raise an alarm. " He saw herglance clouding. "That is the ugly part of the affair, " he was quickto add, himself assuming a look of sadness. He sighed. "What help isthere?" he asked. "Better that those few should suffer than that, as youyourself have said, there should be some thousands of lives lost beforethis rebellion is put down. Besides, " he continued, "Monmouth's officersare far-seeing, ambitious men, who have entered into this affair topromote their own personal fortunes. They are gamesters who have settheir lives upon the board against a great prize, and they know it. Butthese other poor misguided people who have gone out to fight for libertyand religion--it is these whom I am striving to rescue. "

His words sounded fervent, his sentiments almost heroic. Ruth looked athim, and wondered had she misjudged him in the past. She sighed. Thenshe thought of Wilding. He was on the other side, but where was he?Rumour ran that he was dead; that he and Grey had quarrelled at Lyme, and that Wilding had been killed as a result. Had it not been for Diana, who strenuously bade her attach no credit to these reports, she wouldreadily have believed them. As it was she waited, wondering, thinking ofhim always as she had seen him on that day at Walford when he had takenhis leave of her, and more than once, when she pondered the words he hadsaid, the look that had invested his drooping eyes, she found herselfwith tears in her own. They welled up now, and she rose hastily to herfeet. 

She looked a moment at Blake who was watching her keenly, speculatingupon this emotion of which she betrayed some sign, and wondering mightnot his heroism have touched her, for, as we have seen, he had arrayeda deed of excessive meanness, a deed worthy, almost, of the Iscariot, inthe panoply of heroic achievement. 

"I think, " she said, "that you are setting your hand to a very worthyand glorious enterprise, and I hope, nay, I am sure, that success mustattend your efforts. " He was still bowing his thanks when she passed outthrough the open window-doors into the sunshine of the garden. 

Sir Rowland swung round upon Richard. "A great enterprise, Dick, " hecried; "I may count upon you for one?"

"Aye, " said Dick, who had found at last the pretext that he needed, "you may count on me. Pull the bell, we'll drink to the success of theventure. "

CHAPTER XVII. MR. WILDING'S RETURN

The preparations to be made for the momentous coup Sir Rowland meditatedwere considerable. Mr. Newlington was yet to be concerted with andadvised, and, that done, Sir Rowland had to face the difficulty ofeluding the Bridgwater guards and make his way to Feversham's camp atSomerton to enlist the general's cooperation to the extent that wehave seen he looked for. That done, he was to return and ripen hispreparations for the business he had undertaken. Nevertheless, in spiteof all that lay before him, he did not find it possible to leave LuptonHouse without stepping out into the garden in quest of Ruth. Throughthe window, whilst he and Richard were at their ale, he had watched herbetween whiles, and had lingered, waiting; for Diana was with her, andit was not his wish to seek her whilst Diana was at hand. Speak withher, ere he went, he must. He was an opportunist, and now, he fondlyimagined, was his opportunity. He had made that day, at last, afavourable impression upon Richard's sister; he had revealed himself inan heroic light, and egregiously misreading the emotion she had shownbefore withdrawing, he was satisfied that did he strike now victory mustattend him. He sighed his satisfaction and pleasurable anticipation. Hehad been wary and he had known how to wait; and now, it seemed to him, he was to be rewarded for his patience. Then he frowned, as anotherglance showed him that Diana still lingered with her cousin; he wishedDiana at the devil. He had come to hate this fair-haired doll to whomhe had once paid court. She was too continually in his way, a constantobstacle in his path, ever ready to remind Ruth of Anthony Wilding whenSir Rowland most desired Anthony Wilding to be forgotten; and in Diana'sfeelings towards himself such a change had been gradually wrought thatshe had come to reciprocate his sentiments--to hate him with all thebitter hatred into which love can be by scorn transmuted. At first herobject in keeping Ruth's thoughts on Mr. Wilding, in pleading his cause, and seeking to present him in a favourable light to the lady whom he hadconstrained to become his wife, had been that he might stand a barrierbetween Ruth and Sir Rowland to the end that Diana might hope to seerevived--faute de mieux, since possible in no other way--the feelingsthat once Sir Rowland had professed for herself. The situation wasrich in humiliations for poor, vain, foolishly crafty Diana, and thesehumiliations were daily rendered more bitter by Sir Rowland's unwaveringcourtship of her cousin in despite of all that she could do. 

In the end the poison of them entered her soul, corroded her sentimentstowards him, dissolved the love she had borne him, and transformedit into venom. She would not have him now if he did penitence for hisdisaffection by going in sackcloth and crawling after her on his kneesfor a full twelvemonth. But neither should he have Ruth if she couldthwart his purpose. On that she was resolved. 

Had she but guessed that he watched them from the windows, waiting forher to take her departure, she had lingered all the morning, and allthe afternoon if need be, at Ruth's side. But being ignorant ofthe circumstance--believing that he had already left the house--shepresently quitted Ruth to go indoors, and no sooner was she gone thanthere was Blake replacing her at Ruth's elbow. Mistress Wilding met himwith unsmiling, but not ungentle face. 

"Not yet gone, Sir Rowland?" she asked him, and a less sanguine man hadbeen discouraged by the words. 

"It may be forgiven me that I tarry at such a time, " said he, "when weconsider that I go, perhaps--to return no more. " It was an inspirationon his part to assume the role of the hero going forth to a possibledeath. It invested him with noble, valiant pathos which could not, hethought, fail of its effect upon a woman's mind. But he looked in vainfor a change of colour, be it never so slight, or a quickening of thebreath. He found neither; though, indeed, her deep blue eyes seemed tosoften as they observed him. 

 "There is danger in this thing that you are undertaking?" said she, between question and assertion. 

"It is not my wish to overstate it; yet I leave you to imagine what therisk may be. "

"It is a good cause, " said she, thinking of the poor, deluded, humblefolk that followed Monmouth's banner, whom Blake's fine action was torescue from impending ruin and annihilation, "and surely Heaven will beon your side. "

"We must prevail, " cried Blake with kindling eye, and you had thoughthim a fanatic, not a miserable earner of blood-money. "We mustprevail, though some of us may pay dearly for the victory. I have aforeboding... " He paused, sighed, then laughed and flung back his head, as if throwing off some weight that had oppressed him. 

It was admirably played; Nick Trenchard, had he observed it, might haveenvied the performance; and it took effect with her, this adding of aprospective martyr's crown to the hero's raiment he had earlier donned. It was a master-touch worthy of one who was deeply learned--from theschool of foul experience--in the secret ways that lead to a woman'sfavour. In a pursuit of this kind there was no subterfuge too mean, notreachery too base for Sir Rowland Blake. 

"Will you walk, mistress?" he said, and she, feeling that it were anunkindness not to do his will, assented gravely. They moved down thesloping lawn, side by side, Sir Rowland leaning on his cane, bareheaded, his feathered hat tucked under his arm. Before them the river's smoothexpanse, swollen and yellow with the recent rains, glowed like a sheetof copper, so that it blurred the sight to look upon it long. 

A few steps they took with no word uttered, then Sir Rowland spoke. "With this foreboding that is on me, " said he, "I could not go withoutseeing you, without saying something that I may never have anotherchance of saying; something that--who knows?--but for the emprise towhich I am now wedded you had never heard from me. "

He shot her a furtive, sidelong glance from under his heavy, beetlingbrows, and now, indeed, he observed a change ripple over the composureof her face like a sudden breeze across a sheet of water. The deep lacecollar at her throat rose and fell, and her fingers toyed nervously witha ribbon of her grey bodice. She recovered in an instant, and threw upentrenchments against the attack she saw he was about to make. 

"You exaggerate, I trust, " said she. "Your forebodings will be provedgroundless. You will return safe and sound from this venture, as indeedI hope you may. "

That was his cue. "You hope it?" he cried, arresting his step, turning, and imprisoning her left hand in his right. "You hope it? Ah, if youhope for my return, return I will; but unless I know that you will havesome welcome for me such as I desire from you, I think... " hisvoice quivered cleverly, "I think, perhaps, it were well if... Ifmy forebodings were not as groundless as you say they are. Tell me, Ruth... "

But she interrupted him. It was high time, she thought. Her face he sawwas flushed, her eyes had hardened somewhat. Calmly she disengaged herhand. 

"What is't you mean?" she asked. "Speak, Sir Rowland, speak plainly, that I may give you a plain answer. "

It was a challenge in which another man had seen how hopeless was hiscase, and, accepting defeat, had made as orderly a retreat as still waspossible. But Sir Rowland, stricken in his vanity, went headlong on toutter rout. 

"Since you ask me in such terms I will be plain, indeed, " he answeredher. "I mean... " He almost quailed before the look that met him from herintrepid eyes. "Do you not see my meaning, Ruth?"

"That which I see, " said she, "I do not believe, and as I would notwrong you by any foolish imaginings, I would have you plain with me. "

Yet the egregious fool went on. "And why should you not believe yoursenses?" he asked her, between anger and entreaty. "Is it wonderful thatI should love you? Is it... ?"

"Stop!" She drew back a pace from him. There was a moment's silence, during which it seemed she gathered her forces to destroy him, and, in the spirit, he bowed his head before the coming storm. Then, with asudden relaxing of the stiffness her lissom figure had assumed, "I thinkyou had better leave me, Sir Rowland, " she advised him. She half turnedand moved a step away; he followed with lowering glance, his upper liplifting and laying bare his powerful teeth. In a stride he was besideher. 

"Do you hate me, Ruth?" he asked her hoarsely. 

"Why should I hate you?" she counter-questioned, sadly. "I do not evendislike you, " she continued in a more friendly tone, adding, as if byway of explaining this phenomenon, "You are my brother's friend. But Iam disappointed in you, Sir Rowland. You had, I know, no intention ofoffering me disrespect; and yet it is what you have done. "

"As how?" he asked. 

"Knowing me another's wife... "

He broke in tempestuously. "A mock marriage! If it is but that scruplestands between us... "

"I think there is more, " she answered him. "You compel me to hurt you; Ido so as the surgeon does--that I may heal you. "

"Why, thanks for nothing, " he made answer, unable to repress a sneer. Then, checking himself, and resuming the hero-martyr posture, "I go, mistress, " he told her sadly, "and if I lose my life to-night, orto-morrow, in this affair... "

"I shall pray for you, " said she; for she had found him out atlast, perceived the nature of the bow he sought to draw across herheart-strings, and, having perceived it, contempt awoke in her. He hadattempted to move her by unfair, insidious means. 

He fell back, crimson from chin to brow. He stifled the wrath thatwelled up, threatening to choke him. He was a short-necked man, of thesort--as Trenchard had once reminded him--that falls a prey to apoplexy, and surely he was never nearer it than at that moment. He made her aprofound bow, bending himself almost in two before her in a very ironyof deference; then, drawing himself up again, he turned and left her. 

The plot which with some pride he had hatched and the reward he lookedto cull from it, were now to his soul as ashes to his lips. What couldit profit him to destroy Monmouth so that Anthony Wilding lived? Forwhether she loved Wilding or not, she was Wilding's wife. Wilding, nominally, at least, was master of that which Sir Rowland coveted;not her heart, indeed, but her ample fortune. Wilding had been astumbling-block to him since he had come to Bridgwater; but for Wildinghe might have run a smooth course; he was still fool enough to hugthat dear illusion to his soul. Somewhere in England--if not deadalready--this Wilding lurked, an outlaw, whom any might shoot down atsight. Sir Rowland swore he would not rest until he knew that AnthonyWilding cumbered the earth no more--leastways, not the surface of it. 

He went forth to seek Newlington. The merchant had sent his messageto the rebel King, and had word in answer that His Majesty would begraciously pleased to sup at Mr. Newlington's at nine o'clock onthe following evening, attended by a few gentlemen of his immediatefollowing. Sir Rowland received the news with satisfaction, and sighedto think that Mr. Wilding--still absent, Heaven knew where--would not beof the party. It was reported that on the Monday Monmouth was to marchto Gloucester, hoping there to be joined by his Cheshire friends, sothat it seemed Sir Rowland had not matured his plan a day too soon. He got to horse, and contriving to win out of Bridgwater, rode off toSomerton to concert with Lord Feversham concerning the men he would needfor his undertaking. 

That night Richard made free talk of the undertaking to Diana and toRuth, loving, as does the pusillanimous, to show himself engaged indaring enterprises. Emulating his friend Sir Rowland, he held forthwith prolixity upon the great service he was to do the State, and Ruth, listening to him, was proud of his zeal, the sincerity of which it neverentered her mind to doubt. 

Diana listened, too, but without illusions concerning Master Richard, and she kept her conclusions to herself. 

During the afternoon of the morrow, which was Sunday, Sir Rowlandreturned to Bridgwater, his mission to Feversham entirely successful, and all preparations made. He completed his arrangements, and towardseight o'clock that night the twenty men sent by Feversham--they hadslipped singly into the town--began to muster in the orchard at the backof Mr. Newlington's house. 

It was just about that same hour that Mr. Wilding, saddle-worn anddust-clogged in every pore, rode into Bridgwater, and made his way tothe sign of The Ship in the High Street, overlooking the Cross whereTrenchard was lodged. His friend was absent--possibly gone with his mento the sermon Ferguson was preaching to the army in the Castle Fields. Having put up his horse, Mr. Wilding, all dusty as he was, repairedstraight to the Castle to report himself to Monmouth. 

He was informed that His Majesty was in council. Nevertheless, urgingthat his news was of importance, he begged to be instantly announced. After a pause, he was ushered into a lofty, roomy chamber where, inthe fading daylight, King Monmouth sat in council with Grey and Wade, Matthews, Speke, Ferguson, and others. At the foot of the table stood asturdy country-fellow, unknown to Wilding. It was Godfrey, the spy, whowas to act as their guide across Sedgemoor that night; for the matterthat was engaging them just then was the completion of their plansfor the attack that was to be made that very night upon Feversham'sunprepared camp--a matter which had been resolved during the last fewhours as an alternative preferable to the retreat towards Gloucesterthat had at first been intended. 

Wilding was shocked at the change that had been wrought in Monmouth'sappearance during the few weeks since last he had seen him. His facewas thin, pale, and haggard, his eyes were more sombre, and beneath themthere were heavy, dark stains of sleeplessness and care, his very voice, when presently he spoke, seemed to have lost the musical timbre that hadearlier distinguished it; it was grown harsh and rasping. Disappointmentafter disappointment, set down to ill-luck, but in reality the fruit ofincompetence, had served to sour him. The climax had been reached inthe serious desertions after the Philips Norton fight, and the flightof Paymaster Goodenough with the funds for the campaign. The company satabout the long oak table on which a map was spread, and Colonel Wade wasspeaking when Wilding entered. 

On his appearance Wade ceased, and every eye was turned upon themessenger from London. Ferguson, fresh from his sermon, sat with elbowsresting on the table, his long chin supported by his hands, his eyesgleaming sharply under the shadow of his wig which was pulled down infront to the level of his eyebrows. 

It was the Duke who addressed Mr. Wilding, and the latter's keen earswere quick to catch the bitterness that underlay his words. 

"We are glad to see you, sir; we had not looked to do so again. "

"Not looked to do so, Your Gr... Majesty!" he echoed, plainly notunderstanding, and it was observed that he stumbled over the Duke's newtitle. 

"We had imagined that the pleasures of the town were claiming yourentire attention. "

Wilding looked from one to the other of the men before him, and on theface of all he saw a gravity that amounted to disapproval of him. 

"The pleasures of the town?" said he, frowning, and again--"thepleasures of the town? There is something in this that I fear I do notunderstand. "

"Do you bring us news that London has risen?" asked Grey suddenly. 

"I would I could, " said Wilding, smiling wistfully. "Is it a laughingmatter?" quoth Grey angrily. 

"A smiling matter, my lord, " answered Wilding, nettled. "Your lordshipwill observe that I did but smile. "

"Mr. Wilding, " said Monmouth darkly, "we are not pleased with you. "

"In that case, " returned Wilding, more and more irritated, "Your Majestyexpected of me more than was possible to any man. "

"You have wasted your time in London, sir, " the Duke explained. "We sentyou thither counting upon your loyalty and devotion to ourselves. Whathave you done?"

"As much as a man could... " Wilding began, when Grey again interruptedhim. 

"As little as a man could, " he answered. "Were His Grace not the mostfoolishly clement prince in Christendom, a halter would be your rewardfor the fine things you have done in London. "

Mr. Wilding stiffened visibly, his long white face grew set, and hisslanting eyes looked wicked. He was not a man readily moved to anger, but to be greeted in such words as these by one who constituted himselfthe mouthpiece of him for whom Wilding had incurred ruin was more thanhe could bear with equanimity; that the risks to which he had exposedhimself in London--where, indeed, he had been in almost hourlyexpectation of arrest and such short shrift as poor Disney had--shouldbe acknowledged in such terms as these, was something that turned himalmost sick with disgust. To what manner of men had he leagued himself?He looked Grey steadily between the eyes. 

"I mind me of an occasion on which such a charge of foolish clemencymight, indeed--and with greater justice--have been levelled against HisMajesty, " said he and his calm was almost terrible. 

His lordship grew pale at the obvious allusion to Monmouth's mildtreatment of him for his cowardice at Bridport, and his eyes were asbaleful as Wilding's own at that moment. But before he could speak, Monmouth had already answered Mr. Wilding. 

"You are wanting in respect to us, sir, " he admonished him. 

Mr. Wilding bowed to the rebuke in a submission that seemed ironical. The blood mounted slowly to Monmouth's cheeks. 

"Perhaps, " put in Wade, who was anxious for peace, "Mr. Wilding has someexplanation to offer us of his failure. "

His failure! They took too much for granted. Stitched in the lining ofhis boot was the letter from the Secretary of State. To have achievedthat was surely to have achieved something. 

"I thank you, sir, for supposing it, " answered Wilding, his voice hardwith self-restraint; "I have indeed an explanation. "

"We will hear it, " said Monmouth condescendingly, and Grey sneered, thrusting out his bloated lips. 

"I have to offer the explanation that Your Majesty is served in Londonby cowards; self-sufficient and self-important cowards who have hinderedme in my task instead of helping me. I refer particularly to ColonelDanvers. "

Grey interrupted him. "You have a rare effrontery, sir--aye, by God! Doyou dare call Danvers a coward?"

"It is not I who so call him; but the facts. Colonel Danvers has runaway. 

"Danvers gone?" cried Ferguson, voicing the consternation of all. 

Wilding shrugged and smiled; Grey's eye was offensively upon him. Heelected to answer the challenge of that glance. "He has followedthe illustrious example set him by other of Your Majesty's devotedfollowers, " said Wilding. 

Grey rose suddenly. This was too much. "I'll not endure it from thisknave!" he cried, appealing to Monmouth. 

Monmouth wearily waved him to a seat; but Grey disregarded the command. 

"What have I said that should touch your lordship?" asked Wilding, and, smiling sardonically, he looked into Grey's eyes. 

"It is not what you have said. It is what you have inferred. "

"And to call me knave!" said Wilding in a mocking horror. 

The repression of his anger lent him a rare bitterness, and an almostdevilishly subtle manner of expressing wordlessly what was passing inhis mind. There was not one present but gathered from his utterance ofthose five words that he did not hold Grey worthy the honour ofbeing called to account for that offensive epithet. He made just anexclamatory protest, such as he might have made had a woman applied theterm to him. 

Grey turned from him slowly to Monmouth. "It might be well, " said he, in his turn controlling himself at last, "to place Mr. Wilding underarrest. "

Mr. Wilding's manner quickened on the instant from passive to activeanger. 

"Upon what charge, sir?" he demanded sharply. In truth it was theonly thing wanting that, after all that he had undergone, he should bearrested. His eyes were upon the Duke's melancholy face, and his angerwas such that in that moment he vowed that if Monmouth acted upon thissuggestion of Grey's he should not have so much as the consolation ofSunderland's letter. 

"You have been wanting in respect to us, sir, " the Duke answered him. He seemed able to do little more than repeat himself. "You return fromLondon empty-handed, your task unaccomplished, and instead of a becomingcontrition, you hector it here before us in this manner. " He shook hishead. "We are not pleased with you, Mr. Wilding. " "But, Your Grace, "exclaimed Wilding, "is it my fault that your London agents had failed toorganize the rising? That rising should have taken place, and it wouldhave taken place had Your Majesty been more ably represented there. "

"You were there, Mr. Wilding, " said Grey with heavy sarcasm. 

"Would it no' be better to leave Mr. Wilding's affair until afterwards?"suggested Ferguson at that moment. "It is already past eight, YourMajesty, and there be still some details of this attack to settle thatyour officers may prepare for it, whilst Mr. Newlington awaits YourMajesty to supper at nine. "

"True, " said Monmouth, ever ready to take a solution offered by another. "We will confer with you again later, Mr. Wilding. "

Wilding bowed, accepting his dismissal. "Before I go, Your Majesty, there are certain things I would report... " he began. 

"You have heard, sir, " Grey broke in. "Not now. This is not the time. "

"Indeed, no. This is not the time, Mr. Wilding, " echoed the Duke. 

Wilding set his teeth in the intensity of his vexation. 

"What I have to tell Your Majesty is of importance, he exclaimed, andMonmouth seemed to waver, whilst Grey looked disdainful unbelief of theimportance of any communication Wilding might have to make. 

"We have little time, Your Majesty, " Ferguson reminded Monmouth. 

"Perhaps, " put in friendly Wade, "Your Majesty might see Mr. Wilding atMr. Newlington's. "

"Is it really necessary?" quoth Grey. 

This treatment of him inspired Mr. Wilding with malice. The mere mentionof Sunderland's letter would have changed their tone. But he electedby no such word to urge the importance of his business. It should beentirely as Monmouth should elect or be constrained by these gentlemenabout his council-table. 

"It would serve two purposes, " said Wade, whilst Monmouth stillconsidered. "Your Majesty will be none too well attended, your officershaving this other matter to prepare for. Mr. Wilding would form anotherto swell your escort of gentlemen. "

"I think you are right, Colonel Wade, " said Monmouth. "We sup at Mr. Newlington's at nine o'clock, Mr. Wilding. We shall expect you to attendus there. Lieutenant Cragg, " said His Grace to the young officer who hadadmitted Wilding, and who had remained at attention by the door, "youmay reconduct Mr. Wilding. "

Wilding bowed, his lips tight to keep in the anger that cravedexpression. Then, without another word spoken, he turned and departed. 

"An insolent, overbearing knave!" was Grey's comment upon him after hehad left the room. 

"Let us attend to this, your lordship, " said Speke, tapping themap. "Time presses, " and he invited Wade to continue the matter thatWilding's advent had interrupted. 

CHAPTER XVIII. BETRAYAL

Still smarting under the cavalier treatment he had received, Mr. Wildingcame forth from the Castle to find Trenchard awaiting him among thecrowd of officers and men that thronged the yard. 

Nick linked his arm through his friend's and led him away. They quittedthe place in silence, and in silence took their way south towards theHigh Street, Nick waiting for Mr. Wilding to speak, Mr. Wilding's mindstill in turmoil at the things he had endured. At last Nick haltedsuddenly and looked keenly at his friend in the failing light. 

"What a plague ails you, Tony?" said he sharply. "You are as silent as Iam impatient for your news. "

Wilding told him in brief, disdainful terms of the reception theyhad given him at the Castle, and of how they had blamed him for thecircumstance that London had failed to proclaim itself for Monmouth. 

Trenchard snarled viciously. "'Tis that mongrel Grey, " said he. "Oh, Anthony, to what an affair have we set our hands? Naught can prosperwith that fellow in it. " He laid his hand on Wilding's arm and loweredhis voice. "As I have hinted before, 'twould not surprise me if timeproved him a traitor. Failure attends him everywhere, and so unfailinglythat one wonders is not failure invited by him. And that fool Monmouth!Pshaw! See what it is to serve a weakling. With another in his placeand the country disaffected as it is, we had been masters of England bynow. "

Two ladies passed them at that moment, cloaked and hooded, walkingbriskly. One of them turned to look at Trenchard, who, waving his armsin wild gesticulation, was a conspicuous object. She checked in herwalk, arresting her companion. 

"Mr. Wilding!" she exclaimed. It was Lady Horton. 

"Mr. Wilding!" cried Diana, her companion. 

Wilding doffed his hat and bowed, Trenchard following his example. 

"We had scarce looked to see you in Bridgwater again, " said the mother, her mild, pleasant countenance reflecting the satisfaction it gave herto behold him safe and sound. 

"There have been moments, " answered Wilding, "when myself I scarceexpected to return. Your ladyship's greeting shows me what I had losthad I not done so. "

"You are but newly arrived?" quoth Diana, scanning him in the gloaming. 

"From London, an hour since. "

"An hour?" she echoed, and observed that he was still booted anddust-stained. "You will have been to Lupton House?"

A shadow crossed his face, his glance seemed to grow clouded, all ofwhich watchful Diana did not fail to observe. "Not yet, " said he. 

"You are a laggard, " she laughed at him, and he felt the blood drivenback upon his heart. What did she mean? Was it possible she suggestedthat he should be welcome, that his wife's feelings towards him hadundergone a change? His last parting from her on the road near Walfordhad been ever in his mind. 

"I have had weighty business to transact, he replied, and Trenchardsnorted, his mind flying back to the council-room at the Castle, andwhat his friend had told him. 

"But now that you have disposed of that you will sup with us, " said LadyHorton, who was convinced that since Ruth had gone to the altar withhim he was Ruth's lover in spite of the odd things she had heard. Appearances with Lady Horton counted for everything, and all thatglittered was gold to her. 

"I would, " he answered, "but that I am to sup at Mr. Newlington's withHis Majesty. My visit must wait until to-morrow. "

"Let us hope, " said Trenchard, "that it waits no longer. " He was alreadyinstructed touching the night attack on Feversham's camp on Sedgemoor, and thought it likely Wilding would accompany them. 

"You are going to Mr. Newlington's?" said Diana, and Trenchard thoughtshe had turned singularly pale. Her hand was over her heart, her eyeswide. She seemed about to add something, but checked herself. She tookher mother's arm. "We are detaining Mr. Wilding, mother, " said she, and her voice quivered as if her whole being were shaken by some gustyagitation. They spoke their farewells briefly, and moved on. A secondlater Diana was back at their side again. 

"Where are you lodged, Mr. Wilding?" she inquired. 

"With my friend Trenchard--at the sign of The Ship, by the Cross. "

She briefly acknowledged the information, rejoined her mother, andhurried away with her. 

Trenchard stood staring after them a moment. "Odd!" said he; "did youmark that girl's discomposure?"

But Wilding's thoughts were elsewhere. "Come, Nick! If I am to rendermyself fit to sit at table with Monmouth, we'll need to hasten. "

They went their way, but not so fast as went Diana, urging with her herprotesting and short-winded mother. 

"Where is your mistress?" the girl asked excitedly of the first servantshe met at Lupton House. 

"In her room, madam, " the man replied, and to Ruth's room went Dianabreathlessly, leaving Lady Horton gaping after her and understandingnothing. 

Ruth, who was seated pensive by her window, rose on Diana's impetuousentrance, and in the deepening twilight she looked almost ghostly in hergown of shimmering white satin, sewn with pearls about the neck of thelow-cut bodice. 

"Diana!" she cried. "You startled me. "

"Not so much as I am yet to do, " answered Diana, breathing excitement. She threw back the wimple from her head, and pulling away her cloak, tossed it on to the bed. "Mr. Wilding is in Bridgwater, " she announced. 

There was a faint rustle from the stiff satin of Ruth's gown. "Then... "her voice shook slightly. "Then... He is not dead, " she said, morebecause she felt that she must say something than because her wordsfitted the occasion. 

"Not yet, " said Diana grimly. 

"Not yet?"

"He sups to-night at Mr. Newlington's, " Miss Horton exclaimed in a voicepregnant with meaning. 

"Ah!" It was a cry from Ruth, sharp as if she had been stabbed. She sankback to her seat by the window, smitten down by this sudden news. 

There was a pause, which fretted Diana, who now craved knowledge of whatmight be passing in her cousin's mind. She advanced towards Ruth andlaid a trembling hand on her shoulder, where the white gown met theivory neck. "He must be warned, " she said. 

"But.. , but how?" stammered Ruth. "To warn him were to betray SirRowland. "

"Sir Rowland?" cried Diana in high scorn. 

"And... And Richard, " Ruth continued. 

"Yes, and Mr. Newlington, and all the other knaves that are engaged inthis murderous business. Well?" she demanded. "Will you do it, or mustI?"

"Do it?" Ruth's eyes sought her cousin's white, excited face in thequasi-darkness. "But have you thought of what it will mean? Have youthought of the poor people that will perish unless the Duke is taken andthis rebellion brought to an end?"

"Thought of it?" repeated Diana witheringly. "Not I. I have thought thatMr. Wilding is here and like to have his throat cut before an hour ispast. "

"Tell me, are you sure of this?" asked Ruth. 

"I have it from your husband's own lips, " Diana answered, and told herin a few words of her meeting with Mr. Wilding. 

Ruth sat with hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the dim violetafter-glow in the west, and her mind wrestling with this problem thatDiana had brought her. 

"Diana, " she cried at last, "what am I to do?"

"Do?" echoed Diana. "Is it not plain? Warn Mr. Wilding. "

"But Richard?"

"Mr. Wilding saved Richard's life... "

"I know. I know. My duty is to warn him. "

"Then why hesitate?"

"My duty is also to keep faith with Richard, to think of those poormisguided folk who are to be saved by this, " cried Ruth in an agony. "IfMr. Wildin is warned, they will all be ruined. "

Diana stamped her foot impatiently. "Had I thought to find you in thismind, I had warned him myself;" said she. 

"Ah! Why did you not?"

"That the chance of doing so might be yours. That you might thus repayhim the debt in which you stand. "

"Diana, I can't!" The words broke from her in a sob. 

But whatever her interest in Mr. Wilding for her own sake, Diana's primeintent was the thwarting Sir Rowland Blake. If Wilding were warned ofwhat manner of feast was spread at Newlington's, Sir Rowland would beindeed undone. 

"You think of Richard, " she exclaimed, "and you know that Richard is tohave no active part in the affair--that he will run no risk. They haveassigned him but a sentry duty that he may warn Blake and his followersif any danger threatens them. "

"It is not of Richard's life I am thinking, but of his honour, of histrust in me. To warn Mr. Wilding were... To commit an act of betrayal. "

"And is Mr. Wilding to be slaughtered with his friends?" Diana askedher. "Resolve me that. Time presses. In half an hour it will be toolate. "

That allusion to the shortness of the time brought Ruth an inspiration. Suddenly she saw a way. Wilding should be saved, and yet she would notbreak faith with Richard nor ruin those others. She would detain him, and whilst warning him at the last moment, in time for him to savehimself; not do so until it must be too late for him to warn the others. Thus she would do her duty by him, and yet keep faith with Richard andSir Rowland. She had resolved, she thought, the awful difficulty thathad confronted her. She rose suddenly, heartened by the thought. 

"Give me your cloak and wimple, " she bade Diana, and Diana flew to doher bidding. "Where is Mr. Wilding lodged?" she asked. 

"At the sign of The Ship--overlooking the Cross, with Mr. Trenchard. Shall I come with you?"

"No, " answered Ruth without hesitation. "I will go alone. " She drew thewimple well over her head, so that in its shadows her face might lieconcealed, and hid her shimmering white dress under Diana's cloak. 

She hastened through the ill-lighted streets, never heeding the roughcobbles that hurt her feet, shod in light indoor wear, never heeding thecrowds that thronged her way. All Bridgwater was astir with Monmouth'spresence; moreover, there had been great incursions from Taunton and thesurrounding country, the women-folk of the Duke-King's followers havingcome that day to Bridgwater to say farewell to father and son, husbandand brother, before the army marched--as was still believed--toGloucester. 

The half-hour was striking from Saint Mary's--the church in which shehad been married--as Ruth reached the door of the sign of The Ship. Shewas about to knock, when suddenly it opened, and Mr. Wilding himself, with Trenchard immediately behind him, stood confronting her. At sightof him a momentary weakness took her. He had changed from his hard-usedriding-garments into a suit of roughly corded black silk, which threwinto relief the steely litheness of his spare figure. His dark brownhair was carefully dressed, diamonds gleamed in the cravat of snowy laceat his throat. He was uncovered, his hat under his arm, and he stoodaside to make way for her, imagining that she was some woman of thehouse. 

"Mr. Wilding, " said she, her heart fluttering in her throat. "May I... May I speak with you?"

He leaned forward, seeking to pierce the shadows of her wimple; he hadthought he recognized the voice, as his sudden start had shown; andyet he disbelieved his ears. She moved her head at that moment, and thelight streaming out from a lamp in the passage beat upon her white face. 

"Ruth!" he cried, and came quickly forward. Trenchard, behindhim, looked on and scowled with sudden impatience. Mr. Wilding'sphilanderings with this lady had never had the old rake's approval. Toomuch trouble already had resulted from them. 

"I must speak with you at once. At once!" she urged him, her tonefearful. 

"Are you in need of me?" he asked concernedly. 

"In very urgent need, " said she. 

"I thank God, " he answered without flippancy. "You shall find me at yourservice. Tell me. "

"Not here; not here, " she answered him. 

"Where else?" said he. "Shall we walk?"

"No, no. " Her repetitions marked the deep excitement that possessed her. "I will go in with you. " And she signed with her head towards the doorfrom which he was barely emerged. 

"'Twere scarce fitting, " said he, for being confused and full ofspeculation on the score of her need, he had for the moment almostoverlooked the relations in which they stood. In spite of the ceremonythrough which they had gone together, Mr. Wilding still mostly thoughtof her as of a mistress very difficult to woo. 

"Fitting?" she echoed, and then after a pause, "Am I not your wife?" sheasked him in a low voice, her cheeks crimsoning. 

"Ha! 'Pon honour, I had almost forgot, " said he, and though the burdenof his words seemed mocking, their tone was sad. 

Of the passers-by that jostled them a couple had now paused to watch ascene that had an element of the unusual in it. She pulled her wimplecloser to her face, took him by the arm, and drew him with her into thehouse. 

"Close the door, " she bade him, and Trenchard, who had stood aside thatthey might pass in, forestalled him in obeying her. "Now lead me to yourroom, said she, and Wilding in amaze turned to Trenchard as if askinghis consent, for the lodging, after all, was Trenchard's. 

"I'll wait here, " said Nick, and waved his hand towards an oak benchthat stood in the passage. "You had best make haste, " he urged hisfriend; "you are late already. That is, unless you are of a mind to setthe lady's affairs before King Monmouth's. And were I in your place, Anthony, faith I'd not scruple to do it. For after all, " he added underhis breath, "there's little choice in rotten apples. "

Ruth waited for some answer from Wilding that might suggest he wasindifferent whether he went to Newlington's or not; but he spoke no wordas he turned to lead the way above-stairs to the indifferentparlour which with the adjoining bedroom constituted Mr. Trenchard'slodging--and his own, for the time being. 

Having assured herself that the curtains were closely drawn, she put byher cloak and hood, and stood revealed to him in the light of thethree candles, burning in a branch upon the bare oak table, dazzlinglybeautiful in her gown of ivory-white. 

He stood apart, cogitating her with glowing eyes, the faintest smilebetween question and pleasure hovering about his thin mouth. He hadclosed the door, and stood in silence waiting for her to make known tohim her pleasure. 

"Mr. Wilding... " she began, and straightway he interrupted her. 

"But a moment since you did remind me that I have the honour to be yourhusband, " he said with grave humour. "Why seek now to overcloud thatfact? I mind me that the last time we met you called me by another name. But it may be, " he added as an afterthought, "you are of opinion that Ihave broken faith with you. "

"Broken faith? As how?"

"So!" he said, and sighed. "My words were of so little account that theyhave been, I see, forgotten. Yet, so that I remember them, that is whatchiefly matters. I promised then--or seemed to promise--that I wouldmake a widow of you, who had made a wife of you against your will. Ithas not happened yet. Do not despair. This Monmouth quarrel is not yetfought out. Hope on, my Ruth. "

She looked at him with eyes wide open--lustrous eyes of sapphire ina face of ivory. A faint smile parted her lips, the reflection of thethought in her mind that had she, indeed, been eager for his death shewould not be with him at this moment; had she desired it, how easy wouldher course have been. 

"You do me wrong to bid me hope for that, " she answered him, her toneslevel. "I do not wish the death of any man, unless... " She paused; hertruthfulness urged her too far. 

"Unless?" said he, brows raised, polite interest on his face. 

"Unless it be His Grace of Monmouth. "

He considered her with suddenly narrowed eyes. "You have not by chancesought me to talk politics?" said he. "Or... " and he suddenly caught hisbreath, his nostrils dilating with rage at the bare thought that leaptinto his mind. Had Monmouth, the notorious libertine, been to LuptonHouse and persecuted her with his addresses? "Is it that you areacquainted with His Grace?" he asked. 

"I have never spoken to him!" she answered, with no suspicion of whatwas in his thoughts. 

In his relief he laughed, remembering now that Monmouth's affairs weretoo absorbing just at present to leave him room for dalliance. 

"But you are standing, " said he, and he advanced a chair. "I deplorethat I have no better hospitality to offer you. I doubt if I ever shallagain. I am told that Albemarle did me the honour to stable his knackersin my hall at Zoyland. "

She took the chair he offered her, sinking to it like one physicallyweary, a thing he was quick to notice. He watched her, his body eager, his soul trammelling it with a steely restraint. "Tell me, now, " saidhe, "in what you need me. "

She was silent a moment, pondering, hesitation and confusion seeming toenvelop her. A pink flush rose to colour the beautiful pillar of neckand overspread the delicate half-averted face. He watched it, wondering. 

"How long, " she asked him, her whole intent at present being to delayhim and gain time. "How long have you been in Bridgwater?"

"Two hours at most, " said he. 

"Two hours! And yet you never came to... To me. I heard of yourpresence, and I feared you might intend to abstain from seeking me. "

He almost held his breath while she spoke, caught in amazement. He wasstanding close beside her chair, his right hand rested upon its tallback. 

"Did you so intend?" she asked him. 

"I told you even now, " he answered with hard-won calm, "that I had madeyou a sort of promise. "

"I... I would not have you keep it, " she murmured. She heard his sharplyindrawn breath, felt him leaning over her, and was filled with anunaccountable fear. 

"Was it to tell me this you came?" he asked her, his voice reduced to awhisper. 

"No... Yes, " she answered, an agony in her mind, which groped for somemeans to keep him by her side until his danger should be overpast. Thatmuch she owed him in honour if in nothing else. 

"No--yes?" he echoed, and he had drawn himself erect again. "What is'tyou mean, Ruth?"

"I mean that it was that, yet not quite only that. "

"Ah!" Disappointment vibrated faintly in his clamation. "What else?"

"I would have you abandon Monmouth's following, " she told him. 

He stared a moment, moved away and round where he could confront her. The flush had now faded from her face. This he observed and the heaveof her bosom in its low bodice. He knit his brows, perplexed. Here wassurely more than at first might seem. 

"Why so?" he asked. 

"For your own safety's sake, " she answered him. 

"You are oddly concerned for that, Ruth. "

"Concerned--not oddly. " She paused an instant, swallowed hard, and thencontinued. "I am concerned too for your honour, and there is no honourin following his banner. He has crowned himself King, and so provedhimself a self-seeker who came dissembled as the champion of a causethat he might delude poor ignorant folk into flocking to his standardand helping him to his ambitious ends. "

"You are wondrously well schooled, " said he. "Whose teachings do yourecite me? Sir Rowland Blake's?"

At another time the sneer might have cut her. At the moment she was toointent upon gaining time. The means to it mattered little. The more shetalked to no purpose, the more at random was their discourse, the betterwould her ends be served. 

"Sir Rowland Blake?" she cried. "What is he to me?"

"Ah, what? Let me set you the question rather. "

"Less than nothing, " she assured him, and for some moments afterwards itwas this Sir Rowland who served them as a topic for their odd interview. On the overmantel the pulse of time beat on from a little wooden clock. His eyes strayed to it; it marked the three-quarters. He bethoughthim suddenly of his engagement. Trenchard, below-stairs, supremelyindifferent whether Wilding went to Newlington's or not, smoked on, entirely unconcerned by the flight of time. 

"Mistress, " said Wilding suddenly, "you have not yet told me in what youseek my service. Indeed, we seem to have talked to little purpose. Mytime is very short. "

"Where are you going?" she asked him, and fearfully she shot a sidelongglance at the timepiece. It was still too soon, by at least fiveminutes. 

He smiled, but his smile was singular. He began to suspect at last thather only purpose--to what end he could not guess--was to detain him. 

"'Tis a singularly sudden interest in my doings, this, " said he quietly. "What is't you seek of me?" He reached for the hat he had cast upon thetable when they had entered. "Tell me briefly. I may stay no longer. "

She rose, her agitation suddenly increasing, afraid that after all hewould escape her. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Answer me that, andI will tell you why I came. "

"I am to sup at Mr. Newlington's in His Majesty's company. 

"His Majesty's?"

"King Monmouth's, " he explained impatiently. "Come, Ruth. Already I amlate. "

"If I were to ask you not to go, " she said slowly, and she held out herhands to him, her glance most piteous--and that was not acting--as sheraised it to meet his own, "would you not stay to pleasure me?"

He considered her from under frowning eyes. "Ruth, " he said, and he tookher hands, "there is here something that I do not understand. What is'tyou mean?"

"Promise me that you will not go to Newlington's, and I will tell you. "

"But what has Newlington to do with... ? Nay, I am pledged already togo. "

She drew closer to him, her hands upon his shoulders. "Yet if I askyou--I, your wife?" she pleaded, and almost won him to her will. 

But suddenly he remembered another occasion on which, for purposes ofher own, she had so pleaded. He laughed softly, mockingly. 

"Do you woo me, Ruth, who, when I wooed you, would have none of me?"

She drew back from him, crimsoning. "I think I had better go, " said she. "You have nothing but mockery for me. It was ever so. Who knows?" shesighed as she took up her mantle. "Had you but observed more gentleways, you... You... " She paused, needing to say no more. "Good-night!"she ended, and made shift to leave. He watched her, deeply mystified. She had gained the door when suddenly he moved. 

"Wait!" he cried. She paused, and turned to look over her shoulder, herhand apparently upon the latch. "You shall not go until you have toldme why you besought me to keep away from Newlington's. What is it?" heasked, and paused suddenly, a flood of light breaking in upon his mind. "Is there some treachery afoot?" he asked her, and his eye went wildlyto the clock. A harsh, grating sound rang through the room. "What areyou doing?" he cried. "Why have you locked the door?" She was tuggingand fumbling desperately to extract the key, her hands all clumsy in hernervous haste. He leapt at her, but in that moment the key came away inher hand. She wheeled round to face him, erect, defiant almost. 

"Here is some devilry!" he cried. "Give me that key. "

He had no need for further questions. Here was a proof more eloquentthan words to his ready wit. Sir Rowland or Richard, or both, were insome plot for the Duke's ruin--perhaps assassination. Had not her verywords shown that she herself was out of all sympathy with Monmouth? Hewas out of sympathy himself. But not to the extent of standing by to seehis throat cut. She would have the plot succeed--whatever it might beand yet that he himself be spared. There his thoughts paused; but onlyfor a moment. He saw suddenly in this, not a proof of concern born oflove but of duty towards him who had imperilled himself once--and forall time, indeed--that he might save her brother and Sir Rowland. 

He told her what had been so suddenly revealed to him, taxing her withit. She acknowledged it, her wits battling to find some way by whichshe might yet gain a few moments more. She would cling to the key, andthough he should offer her violence, she would not let it go without astruggle, and that struggle must consume the little time yet wanting tomake it too late for him to save the Duke, and--what imported more--thussave herself from betraying her brother's trust. Another fear leapt ather suddenly. If through deed of hers Monmouth was spared that night, Blake, in his despair and rage, might slake his vengeance upon Richard. 

"Give me that key, " he demanded, his voice cold and quiet, his face set. 

"No, no, " she cried, setting her hand behind her. "You shall not go, Anthony. You shall not go. "

"I must, " he insisted, still cold, but oh! so determined. "My honour'sin it now that I know. "

"You'll go to your death, " she reminded him. 

He sneered. "What signifies a day or so? Give me the key. "

"I love you, Anthony!" she cried, livid to the lips. 

"Lies!" he answered her contemptuously. "The key!"

"No, " she answered, and her firmness matched his own. "I will not haveyou slain. "

"'Tis not my purpose--not just yet. But I must save the others. Godforgive me if I offer violence to a woman, " he added, "and lay rudehands upon her. Do not compel me to it. " He advanced upon her, but she, lithe and quick, evaded him, and sprang for the middle of the room. Hewheeled about, his selfcontrol all slipping from him now. Suddenly shedarted to the window, and with the hand that clenched the key shesmote a pane with all her might. There was a smash of shivering glass, followed an instant later by a faint tinkle on the stones below, and thehand that she still held out covered itself all with blood. 

"O God!" he cried, the key and all else forgotten. "You are hurt. "

"But you are saved, " she cried, overwrought, and staggered, laughing andsobbing, to a chair, sinking her bleeding hand to her lap, and smearingrecklessly her spotless, shimmering gown. 

He caught up a chair by its legs, and at a single blow smashed down thedoor--a frail barrier after all. "Nick!" he roared. "Nick!" He tossedthe chair from him and vanished into the adjoining room to reappear amoment later carrying basin and ewer, and a shirt of Trenchard's--thefirst piece of linen he could find. 

She was half fainting, and she let him have his swift, masterful way. He bathed her hand, and was relieved to find that the injury was none sogreat as the flow of blood had made him fear. He tore Trenchard'sfine cambric shirt to shreds--a matter on which Trenchard afterwardscommented in quotations from at least three famous Elizabethandramatists. He bound up her hand, just as Nick made his appearance atthe splintered door, his mouth open, his pipe, gone out, between hisfingers. He was followed by a startled serving-wench, the only otherperson in the house, for every one was out of doors that night. 

Into the woman's care Wilding delivered his wife, and without a word toher he left the room, dragging Trenchard with him. It was striking nineas they went down the stairs, and the sound brought as much satisfactionto Ruth above as dismay to Wilding below. 

CHAPTER XIX. THE BANQUET

It was striking nine. Therefore, Ruth thought that she had achieved herobject, Wilding imagined that all was lost. It needed the more tranquilmind of Nicholas Trenchard to show him the fly in madam's ointment, after Wilding, in half a dozen words, had made him acquainted with thesituation. 

"What are you going to do?" asked Trenchard. 

"Run to Newlington's and warn the Duke--if still in time. "

"And thereby precipitate the catastrophe? Oh, give it thought. It is allit needs. You are taking it for granted that nine o'clock is the hourappointed for King Monmouth's butchery. "

"What else?" asked Wilding, impatient to be off. 

They were standing in the street under the sign of The Ship, by whichJonathan Edney Mr. Trenchard's landlord--distinguished his premises andthe chandler's trade he drove there. Trenchard set a detaining hand onMr. Wilding's arm. 

"Nine o'clock is the hour appointed for supper. It is odds the Duke willbe a little late, and it is more than odds that when he does arrive, theassassins will wait until the company is safely at table and lulled bygood eating and drinking. You had overlooked that, I see. It asks an oldhead for wisdom, after all. Look you, Anthony. Speed to Colonel Wade asfast as your legs can carry you, and get a score of men. Then findsome fellow to lead you to Newlington's orchard, and if only you do notarrive too late you may take Sir Rowland and his cut-throats in the rearand destroy them to a man before they realize themselves attacked. I'llreconnoitre while you go, and keep an eye on the front of the house. Away with you!"

Ordinarily Wilding was a man of a certain dignity, but you had notthought it had you seen him running in silk stockings and silver-buckledshoes at a headlong pace through the narrow streets of Bridgwater, in the direction of the Castle. He overset more than one, and oathsfollowed him from these and from others whom he rudely jostled out ofhis path. Wade was gone with Monmouth, but he came upon Captain Slape, who had a company of scythes and musketeers incorporated in the Duke'sown regiment, and to him Wilding gasped out the news and his request fora score of men with what breath was left him. 

Time was lost--and never was time more precious--in convincing Slapethat this was no old wife's tale. At last, however, he won his way andtwenty musketeers; but the quarter-past the hour had chimed ere theyleft the Castle. He led them forth at a sharp run, with never a thoughtfor the circumstance that they would need their breath anon, perhaps forfighting, and he bade the man who guided them take them by back streetsthat they might attract as little attention as possible. 

Within a stone's-throw of the house he halted them, and sent oneforward to reconnoitre, following himself with the others as quietly andnoiselessly as possible. Mr. Newlington's house was all alight, but fromthe absence of uproar--sounds there were in plenty from the main street, where a dense throng had collected to see His Majesty go in--Mr. Wildinginferred with supreme relief that they were still in time. Butthe danger was not yet past. Already, perhaps, the assassins werepenetrating--or had penetrated--to the house; and at any moment suchsounds might greet them as would announce the execution of theirmurderous design. 

Meanwhile Mr. Trenchard, having relighted his pipe, and set his hatrakishly atop his golden wig, strolled up the High Street, swinginghis long cane very much like a gentleman taking the air in quest of anappetite for supper. He strolled past the Cross and on until he cameto the handsome mansion--one of the few handsome houses inBridgwater--where opulent Mr. Newlington had his residence. A smallcrowd had congregated about the doors, for word had gone forth that HisMajesty was to sup there. Trenchard moved slowly through the people, seemingly uninterested, but, in fact, scanning closely every face heencountered. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he espied in theindifferent light Mr. Richard Westmacott. 

Trenchard passed him, jostling him as he went, and strolled on some fewpaces, then turned, and came slowly back, and observed that Richard hadalso turned and was now watching him as he approached. He was all butupon the boy when suddenly his wrinkled face lighted with recognition. 

"Mr. Westmacott!" he cried, and there was surprise in his voice. 

Richard, conscious that Trenchard must no doubt regard him as aturn-tippet, flushed, and stood aside to give passage to the other. But Mr. Trenchard was by no means minded to pass. He clapped a handon Richard's shoulder. "Nay, " he cried, between laughter and feignedresentment. "Do you bear me ill-will, lad?"

Richard was somewhat taken aback. "For what should I bear you ill-will, Mr. Trenchard?" quoth he. 

Trenchard laughed frankly, and so uproariously that his hatover-jauntily cocked was all but shaken from his head. "I mind me thelast time we met, I played you an unfair trick, " said he. His tonebespoke the very highest good-humour. He slipped his arm throughRichard's. "Never bear an old man malice, lad, " said he. 

"I assure you that I bear you none, " said Richard, relieved to find thatTrenchard apparently knew nothing of his defection, yet wishing thatTrenchard would go his ways, for Richard's task was to stand sentrythere. 

"I'll not believe you till you afford me proof, " Trenchard replied. "Youshall come and wash your resentment down in the best bottle of Canarythe White Cow can furnish us. "

"Not now, I thank you, " answered Richard. 

"You are thinking of the last occasion on which I drank with you, " saidTrenchard reproachfully. 

"Not so. But... But I am not thirsty. "

"Not thirsty?" echoed Trenchard. "And is that a reason? Why, lad, it isthe beast that drinks only when he thirsts. And in that lies one of themain differences between beast and man. Come on"--and his arm effected agentle pressure upon Richard's, to move him thence. But at that moment, down the street with a great rumble of wheels, cracking of whipsand clatter of hoofs, came a coach, bearing to Mr. Newlington's KingMonmouth escorted by his forty life-guards. Cheering broke from thecrowd as the carriage drew up, and the Duke-King as he alightedturned his handsome face, on which shone the ruddy glow of torches, toacknowledge these loyal acclamations. He passed up the steps, at the topof which Mr. Newlington--fat and pale and monstrously overdressed--stoodbowing to welcome his royal visitor. Host and guest vanished, followedby some six officers of Monmouth's, among whom were Grey and Wade. The sight-seers flattened themselves against the walls as the greatlumbering coach put about and went off again the way it had come, thelife-guards following after. 

Trenchard fancied that he caught a sigh of relief from Richard, but thestreet was noisy at the time and he may well have been mistaken. 

"Come, " said he, renewing his invitation, "we shall both be the betterfor a little milk of the White Cow. "

 Richard wavered almost by instinct. The White Cow, he knew, wasfamous for its sack; on the other hand, he was pledged to Sir Rowlandto stand guard in the narrow lane at the back where ran the wall of Mr. Newlington's garden. Under the gentle suasion of Trenchard's arm, hemoved a few steps up the street; then halted, his duty battling with hisinclination. 

"No, no, " he muttered. "If you will excuse me... "

"Not I, " said Trenchard, drawing from his hesitation a shrewd inferenceas to Richard's business. 

"To drink alone is an abomination I'll not be guilty of. "

"But... " began the irresolute Richard. 

"Shalt urge me no excuses, or we'll quarrel. Come, " and he moved on, dragging Richard with him. 

A few steps Richard took unwillingly under the other's soft compulsion;then, having given the matter thought--he was always one to take theline of least resistance--he assured himself that his sentryship wasentirely superfluous; the matter of Blake's affair was an entire secret, shared only by those who had a hand in it. Blake was quite safe from allsurprises; Trenchard was insistent and it was difficult to deny him;and the sack at the White Cow was no doubt the best in Somerset. He gavehimself up to the inevitable and fell into step alongside his companionwho babbled aimlessly of trivial matters. Trenchard felt the change fromunwilling to willing companionship, and approved it. 

They mounted the three steps and entered the common room of the inn. It was well thronged at the time, but they found places at the end of along table, and there they sat and discussed the landlady's Canary forthe best part of a half-hour, until a sudden spatter of musketry, nearat hand, came to startle the whole room. 

There was a momentary stillness in the tavern, succeeded by an excitedclamouring, a dash for the windows and a storm of questions, towhich none could return any answer. Richard had risen with a suddenexclamation, very pale and scared of aspect. Trenchard tugged at hissleeve. 

"Sit down, " said he. "Sit down. It will be nothing. "

"Nothing?" echoed Richard, and his eyes were suddenly bent on Trenchardin a look in which suspicion was now blent with terror. 

A second volley of musketry crackled forth at that moment, and the nextthe whole street was in an uproar. Men were running and shots resoundedon every side, above all of which predominated the cry that His Majestywas murdered. 

In an instant the common room of the White Cow was emptied of everyoccupant save two--Trenchard and Westmacott. Neither of them felt theneed to go forth in quest of news. They knew how idle was the cry inthe streets. They knew what had taken place, and knowing it, Trenchardsmoked on placidly, satisfied that Wilding had been in time, whilstRichard stood stricken and petrified by dismay at realizing, with evengreater certainty, that something had supervened to thwart, perhapsto destroy, Sir Rowland. For he knew that Blake's party had gone fortharmed with pistols only, and intent not to use even these save inthe last extremity; to avoid noise they were to keep to steel. Thisknowledge gave Richard positive assurance that the volleys they hadheard must have been fired by some party that had fallen upon Blake'smen and taken them by surprise. 

And it was his fault! He was the traitor to whom perhaps a score of menowed their deaths at that moment! He had failed to keep watch as he hadundertaken. His fault it was--No! not his, but this villain's who satthere smugly taking his ease and pulling at his pipe. 

At a blow Richard dashed the thing from his companion's mouth andfingers. 

Trenchard looked up startled. 

"What the devil... ?" he began. 

"It is your fault, your fault!" cried Richard, his eyes blazing, hislips livid. "It was you who lured me hither. "

Trenchard stared at him in bland surprise. "Now, what a plague is'tyou're saying?" he asked, and brought Richard to his senses by awakingin him the instinct of self-preservation. 

How could he explain his meaning without betraying himself?--and surelythat were a folly, now that the others were no doubt disposed of. Lethim, rather, bethink him of his own safety. Trenchard looked at himkeenly, with well-assumed intent to read what might be passing in hismind, then rose, paid for the wine, and expressed his intention ofgoing forth to inquire into these strange matters that were happening inBridgwater. 

Meanwhile, those volleys fired in Mr. Newlington's orchard hadcaused--as well may be conceived--an agitated interruption of the superbfeast Mr. Newlington had spread for his noble and distinguished guests. The Duke had for some days been going in fear of his life, for alreadyhe had been fired at more than once by men anxious to earn the priceat which his head was valued; instantly he surmised that whatever thatfiring might mean, it indicated some attempt to surprise him with thefew gentlemen who attended him. 

The whole company came instantly to its feet, and Colonel Wade steppedto a window that stood open--for the night was very warm. The Duketurned for explanation to his host; the trader, however, professedhimself entirely unable to offer any. He was very pale and his limbswere visibly trembling, but then his agitation was most natural. Hiswife and daughter supervened at that moment, in their alarm entering theroom unceremoniously, in spite of the august presence, to inquire intothe meaning of this firing, and to reassure themselves that their fatherand his illustrious guests were safe. 

From the windows they could observe a stir in the gardens below. Blackshadows of men flitted to and fro, and a loud, rich voice was heardcalling to them to take cover, that they were betrayed. Then a sheet oflivid flame blazed along the summit of the low wall, and a second volleyof musketry rang out, succeeded by cries and screams from the assailedand the shouts of the assailers who were now pouring into the gardenthrough the battered doorway and over the wall. For some momentssteel rang on steel, and pistol-shots cracked here and there to theaccompaniment of voices, raised some in anger, some in pain. But it wassoon over, and a comparative stillness succeeded. 

A voice called up from the darkness under the windows to know if HisMajesty was safe. There had been a plot to take him; but the ambuscadershad been ambuscaded in their turn, and not a man of them remained--whichwas hardly exact, for under a laurel bush, scarce daring to breathe, laySir Rowland Blake, livid with fear and fury, and bleeding from a rapierscratch in the cheek, but otherwise unhurt. 

In the room above, Monmouth had sunk wearily into his chair upon hearingof the design there had been against his life. A deep, bitter melancholyenwrapped his spirit. Lord Grey's first thoughts flew to the man hemost disliked--the one man missing from those who had been bidden toaccompany His Majesty, whose absence had already formed the subjectof comment. Grey remembered this bearing before the council that sameevening, and his undisguised resentment of the reproaches levelledagainst him. 

"Where is Mr. Wilding?" he asked suddenly, his voice dominating thedin of talk that filled the room. "Do we hold the explanation of hisabsence?"

Monmouth looked up quickly, his beautiful eyes ineffably sad, his weakmouth drooping at the corners. Wade turned to confront Grey. 

"Your lordship does not suggest that Mr. Wilding can have a hand inthis?"

"Appearances would seem to point in that direction, " answered Grey, andin his wicked heart he almost hoped it might be so. 

"Then appearances speak truth for once, " came a bitter, ringing voice. They turned, and there on the threshold stood Mr. Wilding. Unheard hehad come upon them. He was bareheaded and carried his drawn sword. Therewas blood upon it, and there was blood on the lace that half concealedthe hand that held it; otherwise--and saving that his shoes andstockings were sodden with the dew from the long grass in theorchard--he was as spotless as when he had left Ruth in Trenchard'slodging; his face, too, was calm, save for the mocking smile with whichhe eyed Lord Grey. 

Monmouth rose on his appearance, and put his hand to his sword in alarm. Grey whipped his own from the scabbard, and placed himself slightly infront of his master as if to preserve him. 

"You mistake, sirs, " said Wilding quietly. "The hand I have had in thisaffair has been to save Your Majesty from your enemies. At the moment Ishould have joined you, word was brought me of the plot that was laid, of the trap that was set for you. I hastened to the Castle and obtaineda score of musketeers of Slape's company. With those I surprised themurderers lurking in the garden there, and made an end of them. Igreatly feared I should not come in time; but it is plain that Heavenpreserves Your Majesty for better days. "

In the revulsion of feeling, Monmouth's eyes shone moist. Grey sheathedhis sword with an awkward laugh, and a still more awkward word ofapology to Wilding. The Duke, moved by a sudden impulse to make amendsfor his unworthy suspicions, for his perhaps unworthy reception ofWilding earlier that evening in the council-room, drew the sword onwhich his hand still rested. He advanced a step. 

"Kneel, Mr. Wilding, " he said in a voice stirred by emotion. ButWilding's stern spirit scorned this all too sudden friendliness ofMonmouth's as much as he scorned the accolade at Monmouth's hands. 

"There are more pressing matters to demand Your Majesty's attention, "said Mr. Wilding coldly, advancing to the table as he spoke, and takingup a napkin to wipe his blade, "than the reward of an unworthy servant. "

Monmouth felt his sudden enthusiasm chilled by that tone and manner. 

"Mr. Newlington, " said Mr. Wilding, after the briefest of pauses, andthe fat, sinful merchant started forward in alarm. It was like a summonsof doom. "His Majesty came hither, I am informed, to receive at yourhands a sum of money--twenty thousand pounds--towards the expensesof the campaign. Have you the money at hand?" And his eye, glitteringbetween cruelty and mockery, fixed itself upon the merchant's ashenface. 

"It... It shall be forthcoming by morning, " stammered Newlington. 

"By morning?" cried Grey, who, with the others, watched Mr. Newlingtonwhat time they all wondered at Mr. Wilding's question and the manner ofit. 

"You knew that I march to-night, " Monmouth reproached the merchant. 

"And it was to receive the money that you invited His Majesty to do youthe honours of supping with you here, " put in Wade, frowning darkly. 

The merchant's wife and daughter stood beside him watching him, andplainly uneasy. Before he could make any reply, Mr. Wilding spoke again. 

"The circumstance that he has not the money by him is a little odd--orwould be were it not for what has happened. I would submit, YourMajesty, that you receive from Mr. Newlington not twenty thousand poundsas he had promised you, but thirty thousand, and that you receive it notas a loan as was proposed, but as a fine imposed upon him in consequenceof... His lack of care in the matter of his orchard. "

Monmouth looked at the merchant very sternly. "You have heard Mr. Wilding's suggestion, " said he. "You may thank the god of traitors itwas made, else we might have thought of a harsher course. You shall paythe money by ten o'clock to-morrow to Mr. Wilding, whom I shall leavebehind for the sole purpose of collecting it. " He turned from Newlingtonin plain disgust. "I think, sirs, that here is no more to be done. Arethe streets safe, Mr. Wilding?"

"Not only safe, Your Majesty, but the twenty men of Slape's and your ownlife-guards are waiting to escort you. 

"Then in God's name let us be going, " said Monmouth, sheathing his swordand moving towards the door. Not a second time did he offer to conferthe honour of knighthood upon his saviour. 

Mr. Wilding turned and went out to marshal his men. The Duke and hisofficers followed more leisurely. As they reached the door, a woman'scry broke the silence behind them. Monmouth turned. Mr. Newlington, purple of face and his eyes protruding horridly, was beating the airwith his hands. Suddenly he collapsed, and crashed forward with armsflung out amid the glass and silver of the table all spread with thetraitor's banquet to which he had bidden his unsuspecting victim. 

His wife and daughter ran to him and called him by name, Monmouthpausing a moment to watch them from the doorway with eyes unmoved. ButMr. Newlington answered, not their call, for he was dead. 

CHAPTER XX. THE RECKONING

Ruth had sped home through the streets unattended, as she had come, heedless of the rude jostlings and ruder greetings she met with fromthose she passed; heedless, too, of the smarting of her injured hand, for the agony of her soul was such that it whelmed all minor sufferingsof the flesh. 

In the dining-room at Lupton House she came upon Diana and Lady Hortonat supper, and her appearance--her white and distraught face andblood-smeared gown--brought both women to their feet in alarmed inquiry, no less than it brought Jasper, the butler, to her side with readysolicitude. Ruth answered him that there was no cause for fear, that shewas quite well--had scratched her hand, no more; and with that dismissedhim. When she was alone with her aunt and cousin, she sank into a chairand told them what had passed 'twixt her husband and herself and most ofwhat she said was Greek to Lady Horton. 

"Mr. Wilding has gone to warn the Duke, " she ended, and the despair ofher tone was tragical. "I sought to detain him until it should be toolate--I thought I had done so, but.. , but... Oh, I am afraid, Diana!"

"Afraid of what?" asked Diana. "Afraid of what?"

And she came to Ruth and set an arm in comfort about her shoulders. 

"Afraid that Mr. Wilding might reach the Duke in time to be destroyedwith him, " her cousin answered. "Such a warning could but hasten on theblow. "

Lady Horton begged to be enlightened, and was filled with horrorwhen--from Diana--enlightenment was hers. Her sympathies were all withthe handsome Monmouth, for he was beautiful and should therefore betriumphant; poor Lady Horton never got beyond externals. That hernephew and Sir Rowland, whom she had esteemed, should be leagued in thisdastardly undertaking against that lovely person horrified her beyondwords. She withdrew soon afterwards, having warmly praised Ruth's actionin warning Mr. Wilding--unable to understand that it should be no partof Ruth's design to save the Duke--and went to her room to pray for thepreservation of the late King's handsome son. 

Left alone with her cousin, Ruth gave expression to the fears forRichard by which she was being tortured. Diana poured wine for herand urged her to drink; she sought to comfort and reassure her. Butas moments passed and grew to hours and still Richard did not appear, Ruth's fears that he had come to harm were changed to certainty. Therewas a moment when, but for Diana's remonstrances, she had gone forth inquest of news. Bad news were better than this horror of suspense. Whatif Wilding's warning should have procured help, and Richard were slainin consequence? Oh, it was unthinkable! Diana, white of face, listenedto and shared her fears. Even her shallow nature was stirred by thetragedy of Ruth's position, by dread lest Richard should indeed have methis end that night. In these moments of distress, she forgot her hopesof triumphing over Blake, of punishing him for his indifference toherself. 

At last, at something after midnight, there came a fevered rapping atthe outer door. Both women started up, and with arms about each other, in their sudden panic, stood there waiting for the news that must behere at last. 

The door of the dining-room was flung open; the women recoiled intheir dread of what might come; then Richard entered, Jasper's startledcountenance showing behind him. 

He closed the door, shutting out the wondering servant, and they sawthat, though his face was ashen and his limbs all a-tremble, he showedno sign of any hurt or effort. His dress was as meticulous as when lastthey had seen him. Ruth flew to him, flung her arms about his neck, andpressed him to her. 

"Oh, Richard, Richard!" she sobbed in the immensity of her relief. "Thank God! Thank God!"

He wriggled peevishly in her embrace, disengaged her arms, and put herfrom him almost roughly. "Have done!" he growled, and, lurching pasther, he reached the table, took up a bottle, and brimmed himself ameasure. He gulped the wine avidly, set down the cup, and shivered. "Where is Blake?" he asked. 

"Blake?" echoed Ruth, her lips white. Diana sank into a chair, watchful, fearful and silent, taking now no glory in the thing she hadencompassed. 

Richard beat his hands together in a passion of dismay. "Is he nothere?" he asked, and groaned, "O God!" He flung himself all limp into achair. "You have heard the news, I see, " he said. 

"Not all of it, " said Diana hoarsely, leaning forward. "Tell us whatpassed. "

He moistened his lips with his tongue. "We were betrayed, " he said in aquivering voice. "Betrayed! Did I but know by whom... " He broke off witha bitter laugh and shrugged, rubbing his hands together and shiveringtill his shoulders shook. "Blake's party was set upon by half a companyof musketeers. Their corpses are strewn about old Newlington's orchard. Not one of them escaped. They say that Newlington himself is dead. " Hepoured himself more wine. 

Ruth listened, her eyes burning, the rest of her as cold as ice. "But... But.. , oh, thank God that you at least are safe, Dick!"

"How did you escape?" quoth Diana. 

"How?" He started as if he had been stung. He laughed in a high, crackedvoice, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "How? Perhaps it is just as wellthat Blake has gone to his account. Perhaps... " He checked on the word, and started to his feet; Diana screamed in sheer aifright. Behind herthe windows had been thrust open so violently that one of the panes wasshivered. Blake stood under the lintel, scarce recognizable, so smearedwas his face with the blood escaping from the wound his cheek had taken. His clothes were muddied, soiled, torn, and disordered. 

Framed there against the black background of the night, he stood andsurveyed them for a moment, his aspect terrific. Then he leapt forward, baring his sword as he came. An incoherent roar burst from his lips ashe bore straight down upon Richard. 

"You damned, infernal traitor!" he cried. "Draw, draw! Or die like themuckworm that you are. "

Intrepid, her terror all vanished now that there was the need forcourage, Ruth confronted him, barring his passage, a buckler to herpalsied brother. 

"Out of my way, mistress, or I'll be doing you a mischief. "

"You are mad, Sir Rowland, " she told him in a voice that did somethingtowards restoring him to his senses. 

His fierce eyes considered her a moment, and he controlled himself tooffer an explanation. "The twenty that were with me lie stark underthe stars in Newlington's garden, " he told her, as Richard had told heralready. "I escaped by a miracle, no less, but for what? Feversham willdemand of me a stern account of those lives, whilst if I am found inBridgwater there will be a short shrift for me at the rebel hands--formy share in this affair is known, my name on every lip in the town. Andwhy?" he asked with a sudden increase of fierceness. "Why? Because thatcraven villain there betrayed me. "

"He did not, " she answered in so assured a voice that not only did itgive him pause, but caused Richard, cowering behind her, to raise hishead in wonder. 

Sir Rowland smiled his disbelief, and that smile, twisting hisblood-smeared countenance, was grotesque and horrible. "I left him toguard our backs and give me warning if any approached, " he informed her. "I knew him for too great a coward to be trusted in the fight; so I gavehim a safe task, and yet in that he failed me-failed me because he hadbetrayed and sold me. "

"He had not. I tell you he had not, " she insisted. "I swear it. "

He stared at her. "There was no one else for it, " he made answer, andbade her harshly stand aside. 

Diana, huddled together, watched and waited in horror for the end ofthese consequences of her work. 

Blake made a sudden movement to win past Ruth. Richard staggered to hisfeet intent on defending himself; but he was swordless; retreat to thedoor suggested itself, and he had half turned to attempt to gain it, when Ruth's next words arrested him, petrified him. 

"There was some one else for it, Sir Rowland, " she cried. "It was notRichard who betrayed you. It... It was I. "

"You?" The fierceness seemed all to drop away from him, whelmed in theimmensity of his astonishment. "You?" Then he laughed loud in scornfuldisbelief. "You think to save him, " he said. 

"Should I lie?" she asked him, calm and brave. 

He stared at her stupidly; he passed a hand across his brow, and lookedat Diana. "Oh, it is impossible!" he said at last. 

"You shall hear, " she answered, and told him how at the last moment shehad learnt not only that her husband was in Bridgwater, but that he wasto sup at Newlington's with the Duke's party. 

"I had no thought of betraying you or of saving the Duke, " she said. "I knew how justifiable was what you intended. But I could not let Mr. Wilding go to his death. I sought to detain him, warning him only whenI thought it would be too late for him to warn others. But you delayedoverlong, and... "

A hoarse inarticulate cry from him came to interrupt her at that point. One glimpse of his face she had and of the hand half raised with swordpointing towards her, and she closed her eyes, thinking that her sandswere run. And, indeed, Blake's intention was just then to kill her. Thathe should owe his betrayal to her was in itself cause enough toenrage him, but that her motive should have been her desire to saveWilding--Wilding of all men!--that was the last straw. 

Had he been forewarned that Wilding was to be one of Monmouth's party atMr. Newlington's, his pulses would have throbbed with joy, and he wouldhave flung himself into his murderous task with twice the zest he hadcarried to it. And now he learnt that not only had she thwarted hisschemes against Monmouth, but had deprived him of the ardently soughtfelicity of widowing her. He drew back his arm for the thrust;Diana huddled into her chair too horror-stricken to speak or move:Richard--immediately behind his sister--saw nothing of what was passing, and thought of nothing but his own safety. 

Then Blake paused, stepped back, returned his sword to its scabbard, andbending himself--but whether to bow or not was not quite plain--he tooksome paces backwards, then turned and went out by the window as he hadcome. But there was a sudden purposefulness in the way he did it thatmight have warned them this withdrawal was not quite the retreat itseemed. 

They watched him with many emotions, predominant among which was relief, and when he was gone Diana rose and came to Ruth. 

"Come, " she said, and sought to lead her from the room. 

But there was Richard now to be reckoned with, Richard from whom thepalsy was of a sudden fallen, now that the cause of it had withdrawn. He had his back to the door, and his weak mouth was pursed up into asemblance of resolution, his pale eyes looked stern, his white eyebrowsbent together in a frown. 

"Wait, " he said. They looked at him, and the shadow of a smile almostflitted across Diana's face. He stepped to the door, and, opening it, held it wide. "Go, Diana, " he said. "Ruth and I must understand eachother. "

Diana hesitated. "You had better go, Diana, " said her cousin, whereuponMistress Horton went. 

Hot and fierce came the recriminations from Richard's lips when he andhis sister were alone, and Ruth weathered the storm bravely until itwas stemmed again by fresh fear in Richard. For Blake had suddenlyreappeared. He came forward from his window; his manner composed andfull of resolution. Young Westmacott recoiled, the heat all frozen outof him. But Blake scarce looked at him, his smouldering glance was allfor Ruth, who watched him with incipient fear, despite herself. 

"Madam, " he said, "'tis not to be supposed a mind holding so muchthought for a husband's safety could find room for any concern as toanother's. I will ask you, natheless, to consider what tale I am to bearLord Feversham. "

"What tale?" said she. 

"Aye--that will account for what has chanced; for my failure todischarge the task entrusted me, and for the slaughter of an officer ofhis and twenty men. 

"Why ask me this?" she demanded half angrily; then suddenly bethinkingher of how she had ruined his enterprise, and of the position in whichshe had placed him, she softened. Her clear mind held justice very dear. She approached. "Oh, I am sorry--sorry, Sir Rowland, " she cried. 

He sneered. He had wiped some of the blood from his face, but stilllooked terrible enough. 

"Sorry!" said he, and laughed unpleasantly. "You'll come with me toFeversham and tell him what you did, " said he. 

"I?" She recoiled in fear. 

"At once" he informed her. 

"Wha... What's that?" faltered Richard, calling up his manhood, andcoming forward. "What are you saying, Blake?"

Sir Rowland disdained to heed him. "Come, mistress, " he said, andputting forward his hand he caught her wrist and pulled her roughlytowards him. She struggled to free herself, but he leered evilly uponher, no whit discomposed by her endeavours. Though short of stature, he was a man of considerable bodily strength, and she, though tall, wasslight of frame. He released her wrist, and before she realized what hewas about he had stooped, passed an arm behind her knees, another roundher waist, and, swinging her from her feet, took her up bodily in hisarms. He turned about, and a scream broke from her. 

"Hold!" cried Richard. "Hold, you madman!"

"Keep off, or I'll make an end of you before I go, " roared Blake overhis shoulder, for already he had turned about and was making for thewindow, apparently no more hindered by his burden than had she been adoll. 

Richard sprang to the door. "Jasper!" he bawled. "Jasper!" He had noweapons, as we have seen, else it may be that he had made an attempt touse them. 

Ruth got a hand free and caught at the windowframe as Blake was leapingthrough. It checked their progress, but did not sensibly delay it. Itwas unfortunately her wounded hand with which she had sought to cling, and with an angry, brutal wrench Sir Rowland compelled her to uncloseher grasp. He sped down the lawn towards the orchard, where his horsewas tethered. And now she knew in a subconscious sort of way why he hadearlier withdrawn. He had gone to saddle for this purpose. 

She struggled now, thinking that he would be too hampered to compel herto his will. He became angry, and set her down beside his horse, one armstill holding her. 

"Look you, mistress, " he told her fiercely, "living or dead, you comewith me to Feversham. Choose now. "

His tone was such that she never doubted he would carry out his threat. And so in dull despair she submitted, hoping that Feversham might bea gentleman and would recognize and respect a lady. Half fainting, sheallowed him to swing her to the withers of his horse. Thus they threadedtheir way in the dim starlit night through the trees towards the gate. 

It stood open, and they passed out into the lane. There Sir Rowland puthis horse to the trot, which he increased to a gallop when he was overthe bridge and clear of the town. 

CHAPTER XXI. THE SENTENCE

Mr. Wilding, as we know, was to remain at Bridgwater for the purpose ofcollecting from Mr. Newlington the fine which had been imposed upon him. It is by no means clear whether Monmouth realized the fullness ofthe tragedy at the merchant's house, and whether he understood that, stricken with apoplexy at the thought of parting with so considerable aportion of his fortune, Mr. Newlington had not merely fainted, but hadexpired under His Grace's eyes. If he did realize it he was cynicallyindifferent, and lest we should be doing him an injustice by assumingthis we had better give him the benefit of the doubt, and take it thatin the subsequent bustle of departure, his mind filled with the prospectof the night attack to be delivered upon his uncle's army at-Sedgemoor, he thought no more either of Mr. Newlington or of Mr. Wilding. Thelatter, as we know, had no place in the rebel army; although a man ofhis hands, he was not a trained soldier, and notwithstanding that he mayfully have intended to draw his sword for Monmouth when the time came, yet circumstances had led to his continuing after Monmouth's landing themore diplomatic work of movement-man, in which he had been engaged forthe months that had preceded it. 

So it befell that when Monmouth's army marched out of Bridgwater ateleven o'clock on that Sunday night, not to make for Gloucester andCheshire, as was generally believed, but to fall upon the encampedFeversham at Sedgemoor and slaughter the royal army in their beds, Mr. Wilding was left behind. Trenchard was gone, in command of his troop ofhorse, and Mr. Wilding had for only company his thoughts touching thesingular happenings of that busy night. 

He went back to the sign of The Ship overlooking the Cross, and, kickingoff his sodden shoes, he supped quietly in the room of which shattereddoor and broken window reminded him of his odd interview with Ruth, andof the comedy of love she had enacted to detain him there. Thethought of it embittered him; the part she had played seemed to hisretrospective mind almost a wanton's part--for all that in name she washis wife. And yet, underlying a certain irrepressible nausea, came thereflection that, after all, her purpose had been to save his life. Itwould have been a sweet thought, sweet enough to have overlaid thatother bitterness, had he not insisted upon setting it down entirely toher gratitude and her sense of justice. She intended to repay the debtin which she had stood to him since, at the risk of his own lifeand fortune, he had rescued her brother from the clutches of theLord-Lieutenant at Taunton. 

He sighed heavily as he thought of the results that had attended hiscompulsory wedding of her. In the intensity of his passion, inthe blindness of his vanity, which made him confident--gloriouslyconfident--that did he make himself her husband, she herself would makeof him her lover before long, he had committed an unworthiness of whichit seemed he might never cleanse himself in life. There was but oneamend, as he had told her. Let him make it, and perhaps she would--outof gratitude, if out of no other feeling--come to think more kindlyof him; and that night it seemed to him as he sat alone in that meanchamber that it were a better and a sweeter thing to earn some measureof her esteem by death than to continue in a life that inspired herhatred and resentment. From which it will be seen how utterly hedisbelieved the protestations she had uttered in seeking to detain him. They were--he was assured--a part of a scheme, a trick, to lull himwhile Monmouth and his officers were being butchered. And she had gonethe length of saying she loved him! He regretted that, being as he wasconvinced of its untruth. What cause had she to love him? She hated him, and because she hated him she did not scruple to lie to him--once withsuggestions and this time with actual expression of affection--that shemight gain her ends: ends that concerned her brother and Sir RowlandBlake. Sir Rowland Blake! The name was a very goad to his passion anddespair. 

He rose from the table and took a turn in the room, moving noiselesslyin his stockinged feet. He felt the need of air and action; theweariness of his flesh incurred in his long ride from London was castoff or forgotten. He must go forth. He picked up his fine shoes ofSpanish leather, but as luck would have it--little though he guessed theextent just then--he found them hardening, though still damp from thedews of Mr. Newlington's garden. He cast them aside, and, taking a keyfrom his pocket, unlocked an oak cupboard and withdrew the heavy muddyboots in which he had ridden from town. He drew them on and, takingup his hat and sword, went down the creaking stairs and out into thestreet. 

Bridgwater had fallen quiet by now; the army was gone and townsfolk werein their beds. Moodily, unconsciously, yet as if guided by a sort ofinstinct, he went down the High Street, and then turned off into thenarrower lane that led in the direction of Lupton House. By the gatesof this he paused, recalled out of his abstraction and rendered awareof whither his steps had led him by the sight of the hall door standingopen, a black figure silhouetted against the light behind it. What washappening here? Why were they not abed like all decent folk?

The figure called to him in a quavering voice. "Mr. Wilding! Mr. Wilding!" for the light beating upon his face and figure from theopen door had revealed him. The form came swiftly forward, its stepspattering down the walk, another slenderer figure surged in its placeupon the threshold, hovered there an instant, then plunged down into thedarkness to come after it. But the first was by now upon Mr. Wilding. 

"What is it, Jasper?" he asked, recognizing the old servant. 

"Mistress Ruth!" wailed the fellow, wringing his hands. "She.. , she hasbeen... Carried off. " He got it out in gasps, winded by his short runand by the excitement that possessed him. 

No word said Wilding. He just stood and stared, scarcely understanding, and in that moment they were joined by Richard. He seized Wilding by thearm. "Blake has carried her off, " he cried. 

"Blake?" said Mr. Wilding, and wondered with a sensation of nausea wasit an ordinary running away. But Richard's next words made it plain tohim that it was no amorous elopement, nor even amorous abduction. 

"He has carried her to Feversham... For her betrayal of his to-night'splan to seize the Duke. "

That stirred Mr. Wilding. He wasted no time in idle questions or idlercomplainings. "How long since?" he asked, and it was he who clutchedRichard now, by the shoulder and with a hand that hurt. 

"Not ten minutes ago, " was the quavering answer. 

"And you were at hand when it befell?" cried Wilding, the scorn in hisvoice rising superior to his agitation and fears for Ruth. "You were athand, and could neither prevent nor follow him?"

"I'll go with you now, if you'll give chase, " whimpered Richard, feelinghimself for once the craven that he was. 

"If?" echoed Wilding scornfully, and dragged him past the gate and uptowards the house even as he spoke. "Is there room for a doubt of it?Have you horses, at least?"

"To spare, " said Richard as they hurried on. They skirted the house andfound the stable door open as Blake had left it. Old Jasper followedwith a lamp which burned steadily, so calm was the air of that Julynight. In three minutes they had saddled a couple of nags; in five theywere riding for the bridge and the road to Weston Zoyland. 

"It is a miracle you remained in Bridgwater, " said Richard as they rode. "How came you to be left behind?"

"I had a task assigned me in the town against the Duke's returnto-morrow, " Wilding explained, and he spoke almost mechanically, hismind full of--anguished by--thoughts of Ruth. 

"Against the Duke's return?" cried Richard, first surprised and thenthinking that Wilding spoke at random. "Against the Duke's return?" herepeated. 

"That is what I said?"

"But the Duke is marching to Gloucester. "

"The Duke is marching by circuitous ways to Sedgemoor, " answeredWilding, never dreaming that at this time of day there could be theslightest imprudence in saying so much, indeed, taking little heed ofwhat he said, his mind obsessed by the other, to him, far weightiermatter. 

"To Sedgemoor?" gasped Westmacott. 

"Aye--to take Feversham by surprise--to destroy King James's soldiers intheir beds. He should be near upon the attack by now. But there! Spur onand save your breath if we are to overtake Sir Rowland. "

They pounded on through the night at a breakneck pace which they neverslackened until, when within a quarter of a mile or so of Penzoy Pound, where the army was encamped and slumbering by now, they caught sight ofthe musketeers' matches glowing in the dark ahead of them. An outpostbarred their progress; but Richard had the watchword, and he spurredahead shouting "Albemarle, " and the soldiers fell back and gave thempassage. On they galloped, skirting Penzoy Pound and the army sleepingin Utter unconsciousness of the fate that was creeping stealthily uponit out of the darkness and mists across the moors; they clattered onpast Langmoor Stone and dashed straight into the village, Richard neverdrawing rein until he reached the door of the cottage where Fevershamwas lodged. 

They had come not only at a headlong pace, but in a headlong manner, without quite considering what awaited them at the end of their ride inaddition to their object of finding Ruth. It was only now, as he drewrein before the lighted house and caught the sound of Blake's raisedvoice pouring through an open window on the ground floor, that Richardfully realized what manner of rashness he was committing. He was toolate to rescue Ruth from Blake. What more could he look to achieve?His hope had been that with Wilding's help he might snatch her from SirRowland before the latter reached his destination. But now--to enterFeversham's presence and in association with so notorious a rebel as Mr. Wilding were a piece of folly of the heroic kind that Richard did notsavour. Indeed, had it not been for Wilding's masterful presence, it ismore than odds he had turned tail, and ridden home again to bed. 

But Wilding, who had leapt nimbly to the ground, stood waiting forRichard to dismount, impatient now that from the sound of Sir Rowland'svoice he had assurance that Richard had proved an able guide. The youngman got down, but might yet have hesitated had not Wilding caught himby the arm and whirled him up the steps, through the open door, pastthe two soldiers who kept it, and who were too surprised to stay him, straight into the long, low-ceilinged chamber where Feversham, attendedby a captain of horse, was listening to Blake's angry narrative of thatnight's failure. 

Mr. Wilding's entrance was decidedly sensational. He stepped quicklyforward, and, taking Blake who was still talking, all unconscious ofthose behind him, by the collar of his coat, he interrupted him in themiddle of an impassioned period, wrenched him backwards off his feet, and dashed him with a force almost incredible into a heap in a corner ofthe room. There for some moments the baronet lay half dazed by the shockof his fall. 

A long table, which seemed to divide the chamber in two, stood betweenLord Feversham and his officer and Mr. Wilding and Ruth--by whose sidehe had now come to stand in Blake's room. 

There was an exclamation, half anger, half amazement, at Mr. Wilding'soutrage upon Sir Rowland, and the captain of horse sprang forward. But Wilding raised his hand, his face so composed and calm that it wasimpossible to think him conceiving any violence, as indeed he protestedat that moment. 

"Be assured, gentlemen, " he said, "that I have no further rudeness tooffer any so that this lady is suffered to withdraw with me. " And hetook in his own a hand that Ruth, amazed and unresisting, yielded up tohim. That touch of his seemed to drive out her fears and to restore herconfidence; the mortal terror in which she had been until his comingdropped from her now. She was no longer alone and abandoned to thevindictiveness of rude and violent men. She had beside her one in whomexperience had taught her to have faith. 

Louis Duras, Marquis de Blanquefort, and Earl of Feversham, coughed withmock discreetness under cover of his hand. "Ahem!"

He was a comely man with a long nose, good lowlidded eyes, a humorousmouth, and a weak chin; at a glance he looked what he was, a weak, good-natured sensualist. He was resplendent at the moment in a bluesatin dressing-gown stiff with gold lace, for he had been interruptedby Blake's arrival in the very act of putting himself to bed, and hishead--divested of his wig--was bound up in a scarf of many colours. 

At his side, the red-coated captain, arrested by the general's sardoniccough, stood, a red-faced, freckled boy, looking to his superior fororders. 

"I t'ink you 'ave 'urt Sare Rowland, " said Feversham composedly in hisbad English. "Who are you, sare?"

"This lady's husband, " answered Wilding, whereupon the captain staredand Feversham's brows went up in surprised amusement. 

"So-ho! T'at true?" quoth the latter in a tone suggesting that itexplained everything to him. "T'is gif a differen' colour to yourstory, Sare Rowlan'. " Then he added in a chuckle, "Ho, ho--l'amour!" andlaughed outright. 

Blake, gathering together his wits and his limbs at the same time, madeshift to rise. 

"What a plague does their relationship matter?" he began. He would haveadded more, but the Frenchman thought this question one that neededanswering. 

"Parbleu!" he swore, his amusement rising. "It seem to mattersomet'ing. "

"Damn me!" swore Blake, red in the face from pale that he had been. "Doyou conceive that if I had run away with his wife for her own sake Ihad fetched her to you?" He lurched forward as he spoke, but kept hisdistance from Wilding, who stood between Ruth and him. 

Feversham bowed sardonically. "You are a such flatterer, Sare Rowlan', "said he, laughter bubbling in his words. 

Blake looked his scorn of this trivial Frenchman, who, upon scentingwhat appeared to be the comedy of an outraged husband overtaking theman who had carried off his wife, forgot the serious business, a partof which Sir Rowland had already imparted to him. Captain Wentworth--atime-serving gentleman--smiled with this French general of a Britisharmy that he might win the great man's favour. 

"I have told your lordship, " said Blake, froth on his lips, "thatthe twenty men I had from you, as well as Ensign Norris, are dead inBridgwater, and that my plan to carry off King Monmouth has come toruin, all because we were betrayed by this woman. It is now my furtherprivilege to point out to your lordship the man to whom she sold us. "

Feversham misliked Sir Rowland's arrogant tone, misliked his angry, scornful glance. His eyes narrowed, the laughter faded slowly from hisface. 

"Yes, yes, I remember, " said he; "t'is lady, you have tole us, betrayyou. Ver' well. But you have not tole us who betray you to t'is lady. "And he looked inquiringly at Blake. 

The baronet's jaw dropped; his face lost some of its high colour. Hewas stunned by the question as the bird is stunned that flies headlongagainst a pane of glass. He had crashed into an obstruction sotransparent that he had not seen it. 

"So!" said Feversham, and he stroked the cleft of his chin. "CaptainWentwort', be so kind as to call t'e guard. "

Wentworth moved to obey, but before he had gone round the table, Blakehad looked behind him and espied Richard shrinking by the door. 

"By heaven!" he cried, "I can more than answer your lordship'squestion. "

Wentworth stopped, looking at Feversham. 

"Voyons, " said the General. 

"I can place you in possession of the man who has wrought our ruin. Heis there, " and he pointed theatrically to Richard. 

Feversham looked at the limp figure in some bewilderment. Indeed, he washaving a most bewildering evening--or morning, rather, for it was eventhen on the stroke of one o'clock. "An' who are you, sare?" he asked. 

Richard came forward, nerving himself for what was to follow. It hadjust occurred to him that he held a card which should trump any trick ofSir Rowland's vindictiveness, and the prospect heartened and comfortedhim. 

"I am this lady's brother, my lord, " he answered, and his voice wasfairly steady. 

"Tiens!" said Feversham, and, smiling, he turned to Wentworth. 

"Quite a family party, sir, " said the captain, smiling back. 

"Oh! mais tout--fait, " said the General, laughing outright, and thenWilding created a diversion by leading Ruth to a chair that stood at thefar end of the table, and drawing it forward for her. "Ah, yes, " saidFeversham airily, "let Madame sit. "

"You are very good, sir, " said Ruth, her voice brave and calm. 

"But somewhat lacking in spontaneity, " Wilding criticized, which setWentworth staring and the Frenchman scowling. 

"Shall I call the guard, my lord?" asked Wentworth crisply. 

"I t'ink yes, " said Feversham, and the captain gained the door, andspoke a word to one of the soldiers without. 

"But, my lord, " exclaimed Blake in a tone of protest, "I vow you are tooready to take this fellow's word. "

"He 'as spoke so few, " said Feversham. 

"Do you know who he is?"

"You 'af 'eard 'im say--t'e lady's 'usband. "

"Aye--but his name, " cried Blake, quivering with anger. "Do you knowthat it is Wilding?"

The name certainly made an impression that might have flattered the manto whom it belonged. Feversham's whole manner changed; the trivial airof persiflage that he had adopted hitherto was gone on the instant, andhis brow grew dark. 

"T'at true?" he asked sharply. "Are you Mistaire Wildin'--MistaireAntoine Wildin'?"

"Your lordship's most devoted servant, " said Wilding suavely, and made aleg. 

Wentworth in the background paused in the act of reclosing the door tostare at this gentleman whose name Albemarle had rendered so excellentlywell known. 

"And you to dare come 'ere?" thundered Feversham, thoroughly rousedby the other's airy indifference. "You to dare come 'ere--into my ver'presence?"

Mr. Wilding smiled conciliatingly. "I came for my wife, my lord, " hereminded him. "It grieves me to intrude upon your lordship at so late anhour, and indeed it was far from my intent. I had hoped to overtake SirRowland before he reached you. "

"Nom de Dieu!" swore Feversham. "Ho! A so great effrontery!" He swunground upon Blake again. "Sare Rowlan', " he bade him angrily, "be so kindto tell me what 'appen in Breechwater--everyt'ing!"

Blake, his face purple, seemed to struggle for breath and words. Mr. Wilding answered for him. 

"Sir Rowland is so choleric, my lord, " he said in his pleasant, levelvoice, "that perhaps the tale would come more intelligibly fromme. Believe me that he has served you to the best of his ability. Unfortunately for the success of your choice plan of murder, I had newsof it at the eleventh hour, and with a party of musketeers I was ableto surprise and destroy your cut-throats in Mr. Newlington's garden. You see, my lord, I was to have been one of the victims myself, and Iresented the attentions that were intended me. I had no knowledge thatSir Rowland had contrived to escape, and, frankly, it is a thing Ideplore more than I can say, for had that not happened much troublemight have been saved and your lordship's rest had not been disturbed. "

"But t'e woman?" cried Feversham impatiently. "How is she come into thisgalare?"

"It was she who warned him, " Blake got out, "as already I have had thehonour to inform your lordship. "

"And your lordship cannot blame her for that, " said Wilding. "The ladyis a most loyal subject of King James; but she is also, as you observe, a dutiful wife. I will add that it was her intention to warn me onlywhen too late for interference. Sir Rowland, as it happened, was slowin... "

"Silence!" blazed the Frenchman. "Now t'at I know who you are, t'at makea so great difference. Where is t'e guard, Wentwort'?"

"I hear them, " answered the captain, and from the street came the trampof their marching feet. 

Feversham turned again to Blake. "T'e affaire 'as 'appen' so, " hesaid, between question and assertion, summing up the situation as heunderstood it. "T'is rogue, " and he pointed to Richard, "'ave betrayyour plan to 'is sister, who betray it to 'er 'usband, who save t'e Ducde Monmoot'. N'est-ce pas?"

"That is so, " said Blake, and Ruth scarcely thought it worth while toadd that she had heard of the plot not only from her brother, but fromBlake as well. After all, Blake's attitude in the matter, his action inbringing her to Feversham for punishment, and to exculpate himself, mustsuffice to cause any such statement of hers to be lightly received bythe General. 

She sat in an anguished silence, her eyes wide, her face pale, andwaited for the end of this strange business. In her heart she did permitherself to think that it would be difficult to assemble a group ofmen less worthy of respect. Choleric and vindictive Blake, foolishFeversham, stupid Wentworth, and timid Richard--even Richard didnot escape the unfavourable criticism they were undergoing in hersubconscious mind. Only Wilding detached in that assembly--as he haddetached in another that she remembered--and stood out in sharp relief avery man, calm, intrepid, self-possessed; and if she was afraid, she wasmore afraid for him than for herself. This was something that, perhaps, she scarcely realized just then; but she was to realize it soon. 

Feversham was speaking again, asking Blake a fresh question. "And whobetray you to t'is rogue?"

"To Westmacott?" cried Blake. "He was in the plot with me. He was leftto guard the rear, to see that we were not taken by surprise, and hedeserted his post. Had he not done that, there had been no disaster, inspite of Mr. Wilding's intervention. "

Feversham's brow was dark, his eyes glittered as they rested on thetraitor. 

"T'at true, sare?" he asked him. 

"Not quite, " put in Mr. Wilding. "Mr. Westmacott, I think, wasconstrained away. He did not intend... "

"Tais-toi!" blazed Feversham. "Did I interrogate you? It is for MistaireWestercott to answer. " He set a hand on the table and leaned forwardtowards Wilding, his face very malign. "You shall to answer foryourself, Mistaire Wildin'; I promise you you shall to answer foryourself. " He turned again to Richard. "Ek, bien?" he snapped. "Will youspeak?"

Richard came forward a step; he was certainly nervous, and certainlypale; but neither as pale nor as nervous as from our knowledge ofRichard we might have looked to see him at that moment. 

"It is in a measure true, " he said. "But what Mr. Wilding has said ismore exact. I was induced away. I did not dream any could know of theplan, or that my absence could cause this catastrophe. "

"So you went, eh, vaurien? You t'ought t'at be to do your duty, eh? Andit was you who tole your sistaire?"

"I may have told her, but not before she had the tale already fromBlake. "

Feversham sneered and shrugged. "Natural you will not speak true. Atraitor I 'ave observe' is always liar. "

Richard drew himself up; he seemed invested almost with a new dignity. "Your lordship is pleased to account me a traitor?" he inquired. 

"A dam' traitor, " said his lordship, and at that moment the door opened, and a sergeant, with six men following him, stood at the salute upon thethreshold. "A la bonne heure!" his lordship hailed them. "Sergean', youwill arrest t'is rogue and t'is lady, "--he waved his hand from Richardto Ruth--"and you will take t'em to lock.. Up. "

The sergeant advanced towards Richard, who drew a step away from him. Ruth rose to her feet in agitation. Mr. Wilding interposed himselfbetween her and the guard, his hand upon his sword. 

"My lord, " he cried, "do they teach no better courtesy in France?"

Feversham scowled at him, smiling darkly. "I shall talk wit' you soon, sare, " said he, his words a threat. 

"But, my lord... " began Richard. "I can make it very plain I am notraitor... "

"In t'e mornin', " said Feversham blandly, waving his hand, and thesergeant took Richard by the shoulder. 

But Richard twisted from his grasp. "In the morning will be too late, "he cried. "I have it in my power to render you such a service as youlittle dream of. "

"Take 'im away, " said Feversham wearily. 

"I can save you from destruction, " bawled Richard, "you and your army. "

Perhaps even now Feversham had not heeded him but for Wilding's suddeninterference. 

"Silence, Richard!" he cried to him. "Would you betray... ?" He checkedon the word; more he dared not say; but he hoped faintly that he hadsaid enough. 

Feversham, however, chanced to observe that this man who had shownhimself hitherto so calm looked suddenly most singularly perturbed. 

"Eh?" quoth the General. "An instan', Sergean'. What is t'is, eh?"--andhe looked from Wilding to Richard. 

"Your lordship shall learn at a price, " cried Richard. 

"Me, I not bargain wit' traitors, " said his lordship stiffly. 

"Very well, then, " answered Richard, and he folded his armsdramatically. "But no matter what your lordship's life may be hereafter, you will never regret anything more bitterly than you shall regret thisby sunrise if indeed you live to see it. "

Feversham shifted uneasily on his feet. "'What you say?" he asked. "Whatyou mean?"

"You shall know at a price, " said Richard again. 

Wilding, realizing the hopelessness of interfering now, stood gloomilyapart, a great bitterness in his soul at the indiscretion he hadcommitted in telling Richard of the night attack that was afoot. 

"Your lordship shall hear my price, but you need not pay it me until youhave had an opportunity of verifying the information I have to give you. 

"Tell me, " said Feversham after a brief pause, during which hescrutinized the young man's face. 

"If your lordship will promise liberty and safe-conduct to my sister andmyself. "

"Tell me, " Feversham repeated. 

"When you have promised to grant me what I ask in return for myinformation. "

"Yes, if I t'ink your information is wort'"

"I am content, " said Richard. He inclined his head and loosed thequarrel of his news. "Your camp is slumbering, your officers are allabed with the exception of the outpost on the road to Bridgwater. Whatshould you say if I told you that Monmouth and all his army are marchingupon you at this very moment, will probably fall upon you before anotherhour is past?"

Wilding uttered a groan, and his hands fell to his sides. Had Fevershamobserved this he might have been less ready with his sneering answer. 

"A lie!" he answered, and laughed. "My fren', I 'ave myself beento-night, at midnight, on t'e moore, and I 'ave 'eard t'e army of t'eDuc de Monmoot' marching to Bristol on t'e road--what you call t'e road, Wentwort'?"

"The Eastern Causeway, my lord, " answered the captain. 

"Voil!" said Feversham, and spread his hands. "What you say now, eh?"

"That that is part of Monmouth's plan to come at you across the moors, by way of Chedzoy, avoiding your only outpost, and falling upon you inyour beds, all unawares. Lord! sir, do not take my word for it. Send outyour scouts, and I dare swear they'll not need go far before they comeupon the enemy. "

Feversham looked at Wentworth. His lordship's face had undergone achange. 

"What you t'ink?" he asked. 

"Indeed, my lord, it sounds so likely, " answered Wentworth, "that... That... I marvel we did not provide against such a contingency. "

"But I 'ave provide'!" cried this nephew of the great Turenne. "Ogelt'orpe is on t'e moor and Sare Francis Compton. If t'is is true, 'ow can t'ey 'ave miss Monmoot'? Send word to Milor' Churchill at once, Wentwort'. Let t'e matter be investigate'--at once, Wentwort'--at once!"The General was dancing with excitement. Wentworth saluted and turned toleave the room. "If you 'ave tole me true, " continued Feversham, turningnow to Richard, "you shall 'ave t'e price you ask, and t'e t'anks of t'eKing's army. But if not... "

"Oh, it's true enough, " broke in Wilding, and his voice was like agroan, his face overcharged with gloom. 

Feversham looked at him; his sneering smile returned. 

"Me, I not remember, " said he, "that Mr. Westercott 'ave include you int'e bargain. "

Nothing had been further from Wilding's thoughts than such a suggestion. And he snorted his disdain. The sergeant had fallen back at Feversham'swords, and his men lined the wall of the chamber. The General badeRichard be seated whilst he waited. Sir Rowland stood apart, leaningwearily against the wainscot, waiting also, his dull wits not quiteclear how Richard might have come by so valuable a piece of information, his evil spirit almost wishing it untrue, in his vindictiveness, to theend that Richard might pay the price of having played him false and Ruththe price of having scorned him. 

Feversham meanwhile was seeking--with no great success--to engageMr. Wilding in talk of Monmouth, against whom Feversham harboured inaddition to his political enmity a very deadly personal hatred; forFeversham had been a suitor to the hand of the Lady Henrietta Wentworth, the woman for whom Monmouth--worthy son of his father--had practicallyabandoned his own wife; the woman with whom he had run off, to the greatscandal of court and nation. 

Despairing of drawing any useful information from Wilding, his lordshipwas on the point of turning to Blake, when quick steps and the rattle ofa scabbard sounded without; the door was thrust open without ceremony, and Captain Wentworth reappeared. 

"My lord, " he cried, his manner excited beyond aught one could havebelieved possible in so phlegmatic-seeming a person, "it is true. We arebeset. "

"Beset!" echoed Feversham. "Beset already?"

"We can hear them moving on the moor. They are crossing the LangmoorRhine. They will be upon us in ten minutes at the most. I have rousedColonel Douglas, and Dunbarton's regiment is ready for them. "

Feversham exploded. "What else 'ave you done?" he asked. "Where isMilor' Churchill?"

"Lord Churchill is mustering his men as quietly as may be that they maybe ready to surprise those who come to surprise us. By Heaven, sir, weowe a great debt to Mr. Westmacott. Without his information we mighthave had all our throats cut whilst we slept. "

"Be so kind to call Belmont, " said Feversham. "Tell him to bring myclot'es. "

Wentworth turned and went out again to execute the General's orders. Feversham spoke to Richard. "We are oblige', Mr. Westercott, " said he. "We are ver' much oblige'. "

Suddenly from a little distance came the roll of drums. Other soundsbegan to stir in the night outside to tell of a waking army. 

Feversham stood listening. "It is Dunbarton's, " he murmured. Then, withsome show of heat, "Ah, pardieu!" he cried. "But it was a dirty t'ingt'is Monmoot' 'ave prepare'. It is murder; it is not t'e war. 

"And yet, " said Wilding critically, "it is a little more like war thanthe Bridgwater affair to which your lordship gave your sanction. "

Feversham pursed his lips and considered the speaker. Wentworthreentered, followed by the Earl's valet carrying an armful of garments. His lordship threw off his dressing-gown and stood forth in shirt andbreeches. 

"Mais dpche-toi, donc, Belmont!" said he. "Nous nous battons! Ii fautque je m'habille. " Belmont, a little wizened fellow who understoodnothing of this topsy-turveydom, hastened forward, deposited his armfulon the table, and selected a finely embroidered waistcoat, which heproceeded to hold for his master. Wriggling into it, Feversham rappedout his orders. 

 "Captain Wentwort', you will go to your regimen at once. Butfirst, ah--wait. Take t'ose six men and Mistaire Wilding. 'Ave 'im shotat once; you onderstan', eh? Good. Allons, Belmont! my cravat. "

CHAPTER XXII. THE EXECUTION

Captain Wentworth clicked his heels together and saluted. Blake, in thebackground, drew a deep breath--unmistakably of satisfaction, and hiseyes glittered. A muffled cry broke from Ruth, who rose instantly fromher chair, her hand on her bosom. Richard stood with fallen jaw, amazed, a trifle troubled even, whilst Mr. Wilding started more in surprise thanactual fear, and approached the table. 

"You heard, sir, " said Captain Wentworth. 

"I heard, " answered Mr. Wilding quietly. "But surely not aright. Onemoment, sir, " and he waved his hand so compellingly that, despite theorder he had received, the phlegmatic captain hesitated. 

Feversham, who had taken the cravat--a yard of priceless Dutchlace--from the hands of his valet, and was standing with his back to thecompany at a small and very faulty mirror that hung by the overmantel, looked peevishly over his shoulder. 

"My lord, " said Wilding, and Blake, for all his hatred of this man, marvelled at a composure that did not forsake him even now, "you aresurely not proposing to deal with me in this fashion--not seriously, mylord?"

"Ah, ca!" said the Frenchman. "T'ink it a jest if you please. What foryou come 'ere?"

"Assuredly not for the purpose of being shot, " said Wilding, andactually smiled. Then, in the tones of one discussing a matter that isgrave but not of surpassing gravity, he continued: "It is not that Ifail to recognize that I may seem to have incurred the rigour of thelaw; but these matters must be formally proved against me. I haveaffairs to set in order against such a consummation. "

"Ta, ta!" snapped Feversham. "T'at not regard me. Weutwort', you 'ave'eard my order. " And he returned to his mirror and the nice adjustmentof his neckwear. 

"But, my lord, " insisted Wilding, "you have not the right--you have notthe power so to proceed against me. A man of my quality is not to beshot without a trial. "

"You can 'ang if you prefer, " said Feversham indifferently, drawing outthe ends of his cravat and smoothing them down upon his breast. He facedabout briskly. "Give me t'at coat, Belmont. His Majesty 'ave empower meto 'ang or shoot any gentlemens of t'e partie of t'e Duc t'e Monmoot' ont'e spot. I say t'at for your satisfaction. And look, I am desolate' tobe so quick wit' you, but please to consider t'e circumstance. T'e enemygo to attack. Wentwort' must go to his regimen', and my ot'erofficers are all occupi'. You comprehen' I 'ave not t'e time to spareyou--n'est-ce-pas?"--Wentworth's hand touched Wilding on the shoulder. He was standing with head slightly bowed, his brows knit in thought. Helooked round at the touch, sighed and smiled. 

Belmont held the coat for his master, who slipped into it, and flungat Wilding what was intended for a consolatory sop. "It is fortune deguerre, Mistaire Wilding. I am desolate'; but it is fortune of t'e war. "

"May it be less fortunate for your lordship, then, " said Wilding dryly, and was on the point of turning, when Ruth's voice came in a loud cry tostartle him and to quicken his pulses. 

"My lord!" It was a cry of utter anguish. 

Feversham, settling his gold-laced coat comfortably to his figure, looked at her. "Madame?" said he. 

But she had nothing to say. She stood, deathly white, slightly bentforward, one hand wringing the other, her eyes almost wild, her bosomheaving frantically. 

"Hum!" said Feversham, and he loosened and removed the scarf from hishead. He shrugged slightly and looked at Wentworth. "Finissons!" saidhe. 

The word and the look snapped the trammels that bound Ruth's speech. 

"Five minutes, my lord!" she cried imploringly. "Give him fiveminutes--and me, my lord!"

Wilding, deeply shaken, trembled now as he awaited Feversham's reply. 

The Frenchman seemed to waver. "Bien, " he began, spreading his hands. And in that moment a shot rang out in the night and startled the wholecompany. Feversham threw back his head; the signs of yielding left hisface. "Ha!" he cried. "T'ey are arrive. " He snatched his wig from hislacquey's hands, donned it, and turned again an instant to the mirrorto adjust the great curls. "Quick, Wentwort'! T'ere is no more time now. Make Mistaire Wilding be shot at once. T'en to your regimen'. " He facedabout and took the sword his valet proffered. "Au revoir, messieurs!"

"Serviteur, madame!" And, buckling his sword-belt as he went, he sweptout, leaving the door wide open, Belmont following, Wentworth salutingand the guards presenting arms. 

"Come, sir, " said the captain in a subdued voice, his eyes avoidingRuth's face. 

"I am ready, " answered Wilding firmly, and he turned to glance at hiswife. 

She was bending towards him, her hands held out, such a look on her faceas almost drove him mad with despair, reading it as he did. He made asound deep in his throat before he found words. 

"Give me one minute, sir--one minute, " he begged Wentworth. "I ask nomore than that. "

Wentworth was a gentleman and not ill-natured. But he was a soldier andhad received his orders. He hesitated between the instincts of thetwo conditions. And what time he did so there came a clatter of hoofswithout to resolve him. It was Feversham departing. 

"You shall have your minute, sir, " said he. "More I dare not give you, as you can see. 

"From my heart I thank you, " answered Mr. Wilding, and from thegratitude of his tone you might have inferred that it was his lifeWentworth had accorded him. 

The captain had already turned aside to address his men. "Two of yououtside, guard that window, " he ordered. "The rest of you, in thepassage. Bestir there!"

"Take your precautions, by all means, sir, " said Wilding; "but I giveyou my word of honour I shall attempt no escape. "

Wentworth nodded without replying. His eye lighted on Blake--who hadbeen seemingly forgotten in the confusion--and on Richard. A kindlinessfor the man who met his end so unflinchingly, a respect for so worthy anemeny, actuated the red-faced captain. 

"You had better take yourself off, Sir Rowland, " said he. "And you, Mr. Westmacott--you can wait in the passage with my men. "

They obeyed him promptly enough, but when outside Sir Rowland madebold to remind the captain that he was failing in his duty, and thathe should make a point of informing the General of this anon. Wentworthbade him go to the devil, and so was rid of him. 

Alone, inside that low-ceilinged chamber, stood Ruth and Wilding faceto face. He advanced towards her, and with a shuddering sob she flungherself into his arms. Still, he mistrusted the emotion to which shewas a prey--dreading lest it should have its root in pity. He patted hershoulder soothingly. 

"Nay, nay, little child, " he whispered in her ear. "Never weep forme that have not a tear for myself. What better resolution of thedifficulties my folly has created?" For only answer she clung closer, her hands locked about his neck, her slender body shaken by her silentweeping. "Don't pity me, " he besought her. "I am content it should beso. It is the amend I promised you. Waste no pity on me, Ruth. "

She raised her face, her eyes wild and blurred with tears, looked up tohis. 

"It is not pity!" she cried. "I want you, Anthony! I love you, Anthony, Anthony!"

His face grew ashen. "It is true, then!" he asked her. "And what yousaid to-night was true! I thought you said it only to detain me. "

"Oh, it is true, it is true!" she wailed. 

He sighed; he disengaged a hand to stroke her face. "I am happy, " hesaid, and strove to smile. "Had I lived, who knows... ?"

"No, no, no, " she interrupted him passionately, her arms tighteningabout his neck. He bent his head. Their lips met and clung. A knockfell upon the door. They started, and Wilding raised his hands gently todisengage her pinioning arms. 

"I must go, sweet, " he said. 

"God help me!" she moaned, and clung to him still. "It is I who amkilling you--I and your love for me. For it was to save me you rodehither to-night, never pausing to weigh your own deadly danger. Oh, Iam punished for having listened to every voice but the voice of my ownheart where you were concerned. Had I loved you earlier--had I owned itearlier... "

"It had still been too late, " he said, more to comfort her than becausehe knew it to be so. "Be brave for my sake, Ruth. You can be brave, Iknow--so well. Listen, sweet. Your words have made me happy. Mar notthis happiness of mine by sending me out in grief at your grief. "

Her response to his prayer was brave, indeed. Through her tears came afaint smile to overspread her face so white and pitiful. 

"We shall meet soon again, " she said. 

"Aye--think on that, " he bade her, and pressed her to him. "Good-bye, sweet! God keep you till we meet!" he added, his voice infinitelytender. 

"Mr. Wilding!" Wentworth's voice called him, and the captain thrust thedoor open a foot or so. "Mr. Wilding!"

"I am coming, " he answered steadily. He kissed her again, and on thatkiss of his she sank against him, and he felt her turn all limp. Heraised his voice. "Richard!" he shouted wildly. "Richard!"

At the note of alarm in his voice, Wentworth flung wide the doorand entered, Richard's ashen face showing over his shoulder. In herbrother's care Wilding delivered his mercifully unconscious wife. "Seeto her, Dick, " he said, and turned to go, mistrusting himself now. But he paused as he reached the door, Wentworth waxing more and moreimpatient at his elbow. He turned again. 

"Dick, " he said, "we might have been better friends. I would we hadbeen. Let us part so at least, " and he held out his hand, smiling. 

Before so much gallantry Richard was conquered almost to the point ofworship; a weak man himself, there was no virtue he could more admirethan strength. He left Ruth in the high-backed chair in which Wilding'stender hands had placed her, and sprang forward, tears in his eyes. Hewrung Wilding's hands in wordless passion. 

"Be good to her, Dick, " said Wilding, and went out with Wentworth. 

He was marched down the street in the centre of that small party ofmusketeers of Dunbarton's regiment, his thoughts all behind him ratherthan ahead, a smile on his lips. He had conquered at the last. Hethought of that other parting of theirs, nearly a month ago, on the roadby Walford. Now, as then, circumstance was the fire that had melted her. But the crucible was no longer--as then of pity; it was the crucible oflove. 

And in that same crucible, too, Anthony Wilding's nature had undergone atransmutation; his love for Ruth had been purified of that base alloy ofdesire which had driven him into the unworthiness of making her his ownat all costs; there was no carnal grossness in his present passion; itwas pure as a religion--the love that takes no account of self, the lovethat makes for joyous and grateful martyrdom. And a joyous and gratefulmartyr would Anthony Wilding have been could he have thought that hisdeath would bring her happiness or peace. In such a faith as that he hadmarched--or so he thought blithely to his end, and the smile on his lipshad been less wistful than it was. Thinking of the agony in which he hadleft her, he almost came to wish--so pure was his love grown--that hehad not conquered. The joy that at first was his was now all dashed. Hisdeath would cause her pain. His death! O God! It is an easy thing to bea martyr; but this was not martyrdom; having done what he had done hehad not the right to die. The last vestige of the smile that he had wornfaded from his tight-pressed lips tight-pressed as though to endure somephysical suffering. His face greyed, and deep lines furrowed his brow. Thus he marched on, mechanically, amid his marching escort, through themurky, fog-laden night, taking no heed of the stir about them, for allWeston Zoyland was aroused by now. 

Ahead of them, and over to the east, the firing blazed and crackled, volley upon volley, to tell them that already battle had been joinedin earnest. Monmouth's surprise had aborted, and it passed throughWilding's mind that to a great extent he was to blame for this. But itgave him little care. 

At least his indiscretion had served the purpose of rescuing Ruth fromLord Feversham's unclean clutches. For the rest, knowing that Monmouth'sarmy by far outnumbered Feversham's, he had no doubt that the advantagemust still lie with the Duke, in spite of Feversham's having been warnedin the eleventh hour. 

Louder grew the sounds of battle. Above the din of firing a swellingchorus rose upon the night, startling and weird in such a time andplace. Monmouth's pious infantry went into action singing hymns, andWentworth, impatient to be at his post, bade his men go faster. 

The night was by now growing faintly luminous, and the deathly greylight of approaching dawn hung in the mists upon the moor. Objects grewvisible in bulk at least, if not in form and shape, by the time thelittle company had reached the end of Weston village and come uponthe deep mud dyke which had been Wentworth's objective--a ditch thatcommunicated with the great rhine that served the King's forces so wellon that night of Sedgemoor. 

Within some twenty paces of this Wentworth called a halt, and would havehad Wilding's hands pinioned behind him, and his eyes blindfolded, butthat Wilding begged him this might not be done. Wentworth was, as weknow, impatient; and between impatience and kindliness, perhaps, heacceded to Wilding's prayer. 

He even hesitated a moment at the last. It was in his mind to speak someword of comfort to the doomed man. Then a sudden volley, more terrificthan any that had preceded it, followed by hoarse cheering away toeastward, quickened his impatience. He bade the sergeant lead Mr. Wilding forward and stand him on the edge of the ditch. His object wasthat thus the man's body would be disposed of without waste of time. This Wilding realized, his soul rebelling against this fate whichhad come upon him in the very hour when he most desired to live. Madthoughts of escape crossed his mind--of a leap across the dyke, and awild dash through the fog. But the futility of it was too appalling. The musketeers were already blowing their matches. He would suffer theignominy of being shot in the back, like a coward, if he made any suchattempt. 

And so, despairing but not resigned, he took his stand on the very edgeof the ditch. In an irony of obligingness he set half of his heels overthe void, so that he was nicely balanced upon the edge of the cutting, and must go backwards and down into the mud when hit. 

It was this position he had taken that gave him an inspiration in thatlast moment. The sergeant had moved away out of the line of fire, and hestood there alone, waiting, erect and with his head held high, hiseyes upon the grey mass of musketeers--blurred alike by mist andsemi-darkness--some twenty paces distant along the line of which glowedeight red fuses. 

Wentworth's voice rang out with the words of command. 

"Blow your matches!"

Brighter gleamed the points of light, and under their steel pots thefaces of the musketeers, suffused by a dull red glow, sprang for amoment out of the grey mass, to fade once more into the general greynessat the word, "Cock your matches!"

"Guard your pans!" came a second later the captain's voice, and then:

"Present!"

There was a stir and rattle, and the dark, indistinct figure standingon the lip of the ditch was covered by the eight muskets. To the eyes ofthe firing-party he was no more than a blurred shadowy form, showing alittle darker than the encompassing dark grey. 

"Give fire!"

On the word Mr. Wilding lost the delicate, precarious balance he hadbeen sustaining on the edge of the ditch, and went over backwards, atthe imminent risk--as he afterwards related--of breaking his neck. At the same instant a jagged, eight-pointed line of flame slashed thedarkness, and the thunder of the volley pealed forth to lose itself inthe greater din of battle on Penzoy Pound, hard by. 

CHAPTER XXIII. MR. WILDING'S BOOTS

In the filth of the ditch, Mr. Wilding rolled over and lay prone. Hethrew out his left arm, and rested his brow upon it to keep his faceabove the mud. He strove to hold his breath, not that he might dissembledeath, but that he might avoid being poisoned by the foul gases that, disturbed by his weight, bubbled up to choke him. His body half sankand settled in the mud, and seen from above, as he was presently seenby Wentworth--who ran forward with the sergeant's lanthorn to assurehimself that the work had been well done--he had all the air of beingnot only dead but already half buried. 

And now, for a second, Mr. Wilding was in his greatest danger, and thisfrom the very humaneness of the sergeant. The fellow advanced to thecaptain's side, a pistol in his hand. Wentworth held the light aloft andpeered down into that six feet of blackness at the jacent figure. 

"Shall I give him an ounce of lead to make sure, Captain?" quoth thesergeant. But Wentworth, in his great haste, had already turned about, and the light of his lanthorn no longer revealed the form of Mr. Wilding. 

"There is not the need. The ditch will do what may remain to be done, ifanything does. Come on, man. We are wanted yonder. "

The light passed, steps retreated, the sergeant muttering, and thenWentworth's voice was heard by Wilding some little distance off. 

"Bring up your muskets!"

"Shoulder!"

"By the right--turn! March!" And the tramp, tramp of feet recededrapidly. 

Wilding was already sitting up, endeavouring to get a breath of purerair. He rose to his feet, sinking almost to the top of his boots inthe oozy slime. Foul gases were belched up to envelop him. He seizedat irregularities in the bank, and got his head above the level of theground. He thrust forward his chin and took great greedy breaths in avery gluttony of air--and never came Muscadine sweeter to a drunkard'slips. He laughed softly to himself. He was alone and safe. Wentworthand his men had disappeared. Away in the direction of Penzoy Pound thesounds of battle swelled ever to a greater volume. Cannons were boomingnow, and all was uproar--flame and shouting, cheering and shrieking, the thunder of hastening multitudes, the clash of steel, the pounding ofhorses, all blent to make up the horrid din of carnage. 

Mr. Wilding listened, and considered what to do. His first impulse wasto join the fray. But, bethinking him that there could be little placefor him in the confusion that must prevail by now, he reconsidered thematter, and his thoughts returning to Ruth--the wife for whom he hadbeen at such pains to preserve himself on the very brink of death--heresolved to endanger himself no further for that night. 

He dropped back into the ditch, and waded, ankle deep in slime, to theother side. There he crawled out, and gaining the moor lay down awhileto breathe his lungs. But not for long. The dawn was creeping pale andghostly across the solid earth, and a faint fresh breeze was stirringand driving the mist in wispy shrouds before it. If he lingered there hemight yet be found by some party of Royalist soldiers, and that would beto undo all that he had done. He rose, and struck out across the peatyground. None knew the moors better than did he, and had he been withGrey's horse that night, it is possible things had fared differently, for he had proved a surer guide than did Godfrey, the spy. 

At first he thought of making for Bridgwater and Lupton House. By nowRichard would be on his way thither with Ruth, and Wilding was in hastethat she should be reassured that he had not fallen to the musketsof Wentworth's firing-party. But Bridgwater was far, and he beganto realize, now that all excitement was past, that he was utterlyexhausted. Next he thought of Scoresby Hall and his cousin Lord Gervase. But he was by no means sure that he might count upon a welcome. Gervasehad shown no sympathy for Monmouth or his partisans, and whilst he wouldhardly go so far as to refuse Mr. Wilding shelter, still Wilding felt anaversion to seeking what might be grudged him. At last he bethought himof home. Zoyland Chase was near at hand; but he had not been there sincehis wedding-day, and in the mean time he knew that it had been used asa barrack for the militia, and had no doubt that it had been wrecked andplundered. Still, it must have walls and a roof, and that, for the time, was all he craved, that he might rest awhile and recuperate his wastedforces. 

A half-hour later he dragged himself wearily up the avenue between theelms--looking white as snow in the pale July dawn--to the clearing infront of his house. 

Desertion was stamped upon the face of it. Shattered windows and hangingshutters everywhere. How wantonly they had wrecked it! It might havebeen a church, and the militia a regiment of Cromwell's iconoclasticPuritans. The door was locked, but going round he found a window--oneof the door--windows of his library hanging loose upon its hinges. Hepushed it wide, and entered with a heavy heart. Instantly somethingstirred in a corner; a fierce growl was followed by a furious bark, anda lithe brown body leapt from the greater into the lesser shadows toattack the intruder. But at one word of his the hound checked suddenly, crouched an instant, then with a queer, throaty sound bounded forward ina wild delight that robbed it on the instant of its voice. It found itanon and leapt about him, barking furious joy in spite of all hisvain endeavours to calm it. He grew afraid lest the dog should drawattention. He knew not who--if any--might be in possession of hishouse. The library, as he looked round, showed a scene of wreckage thatexcellently matched the exterior. Not a picture on the walls, not anarras, but had been rent to shreds. The great lustre that had hungfrom the centre of the ceiling was gone. Disorder reigned alongthe bookshelves, and yet there and elsewhere there was a certainorderliness, suggesting an attempt to straighten up the place afterthe ravagers had departed. It was these signs made him afraid the housemight be tenanted by such as might prove his enemies. 

"Down, Jack, " he said to the dog for the twentieth time, patting itssleek head. "Down, down!"

But still the dog bounded about him, barking wildly. 

"Sh!" he hissed suddenly. Steps sounded in the hall. It was as hefeared. The door was suddenly thrown open, and the grey morning lightgleamed upon the long barrel of a musket. After it, bearing it, entereda white-haired old man. 

He paused on the threshold, measuring the tall disordered stranger whostood there, his figure a black silhouette against the window by whichhe had entered. 

"What seek you here, sir, in this house of desolation?" asked the voiceof Mr. Wilding's old servant. 

He answered but one word. "Walters!"

The musket dropped with a clatter from the old man's hands. He sank backagainst the doorpost and leaned there an instant; then, whimpering andlaughing, he came tottering forward--his old legs failing him in thisexcess of unexpected joy--and sank on his knees to kiss his master'shand. 

Wilding patted the old head, as he had patted the dog's a little whileago. He was oddly moved; there was a knot in his throat. No home-comingcould well have been more desolate. And yet, what home-coming could havebrought him such a torturing joy as was now his? Oh, it is good to beloved, if it be by no more than a dog and an old servant!

In a moment Walters was himself again. He was on his feet, scrutinizingWilding's haggard face and disordered, filthy clothes. He broke intoexclamations between dismay and reproach, but these Wilding interruptedto ask the old man how it happened that he had remained. 

"My son John was a sergeant in the troop that quartered itself here, sir, " Walters explained, "and so they left me alone. But even had it notbeen for that, I scarcely think they would have harmed an old man. Theywere brave fellows for all the mischief they did here, and they seemedto have little heart in the service of the Popish King. It wasthe officers drove them on to all this damage, and once they'dstarted--well, there were rogues amongst them saw a chance of plunder, and they took it. I have sought to put the place to rights; but they didsome woeful, wanton mischief. "

Wilding sighed. "It's little matter, perhaps, as the place is no longermine. 

"No... No longer yours, sir?"

"I'm an attainted outlaw, Walters, " he explained. "They'll bestow it onsome Popish time-server, unless King Monmouth can follow up by greatervictories to-night's. Have you aught a man may eat or drink?"

Meat and wine, fresh linen and fresh garments did old Walters find him;and when he had washed, eaten, and drunk, Mr. Wilding wrapped himselfin a dressing-gown and laid himself down to sleep on a settle in thelibrary, his servant and his dog on guard. 

Not above an hour, however, was he destined to enjoy his hard-earnedrest. The light had grown, meanwhile, and from grey it had turnedgolden, the heralds of the sun being already in the east. In thedistance the firing had died down to a mere occasional boom. 

Suddenly old Walters raised his head to listen. The beat of hoofs wasdrawing rapidly near, so near that presently he rose in alarm, fora horseman was pounding up the avenue, had drawn rein at the mainentrance. 

Walters knit his brows in perplexity, and glanced at his master whoslept on utterly worn out. A silent pause followed, lasting someminutes. Then it was the dog that rose with a growl, his coat bristling, and an instant later there came a sharp rapping at the hall door. 

"Sh! Down, Jack!" whispered Walters, afraid of rousing Mr. Wilding. Hetiptoed softly across the room, picked up his musket, and, calling thedog, went out, a great fear in his heart, but not for himself. 

The rapping continued, growing every instant more urgent, so urgent thatWalters was almost reassured. Here was no enemy, but surely some onein need. Walters opened at last, and Mr. Trenchard, grimy of face andhands, his hat shorn of its plumes, his clothes torn, staggered with anoath across the threshold. 

"Walters!" he cried. "Thank God! I thought you'd be here, but I wasn'tcertain. Down, Jack!"

The hound was barking madly again, having recognized an old friend. 

"Plague on the dog!" growled Walters. "He'll wake Mr. Wilding. "

"Mr. Wilding?" said Trenchard, and checked midway across the hall. "Mr. Wilding?"

"He arrived here a couple of hours ago, sir... "

"Wilding here? Oddsheart! I was more than well advised to come. Where ishe, man?"

"Sh, sir! He's asleep in the library. You'll wake him, you'll wake him!"

But Trenchard never paused. He crossed the hall at a bound, and flungwide the library door. "Anthony!" he shouted. "Anthony!" And in thebackground Walters cursed him for a fool. Wilding leapt to his feet, awake and startled. 

"Wha... Nick!"

"Oons!" roared Nick. "You're choicely found. I came to send toBridgwater for you. We must away at once, man. "

"How--away? I thought you were in the fight, Nick. "

"And don't I look as if I had been?"

"But then.. 

"The fight is fought and lost; there's an end to the garboil. Monmouthis in full flight with what's left him of his horse. When I quitted thefield, he was riding hard for Polden Hill. " He dropped into a chair, hisaccents grim and despairing, his eyes haggard. 

"Lost?" gasped Wilding, and his conscience pricked him for a moment, remembering how much it had been his fault--however indirectly--thatFeversham had been forewarned. "But how lost?" he cried a moment later. 

"Ask Grey, " snapped Trenchard. "Ask his craven, numskulled lordship. Hehad as good a hand in losing it as any. Oh, it was all most infernallymishandled, as has been everything in this ill-starred rising. Grey sentback Godfrey, the guide, and attempted in the dark to find his own wayacross the rhine. He missed the ford. What else could the fool havehoped? And when he was discovered and Dunbarton's guns began to play onus--hell and fire! we ran as if Sedgemoor had been a race-course. 

"The rest was but the natural sequel. The foot, seeing our confusion, broke. They were rallied again; broke again; and again were rallied; butall too late. The enemy was up, and with that damned ditch between usthere was no getting to close quarters with them. Had Grey ridden round, and sought to turn their flank, things might have been--O God!--theywould have been entirely different. I did suggest it. But for my painsGrey threatened to pistol me if I presumed to instruct him in his duty. I would to Heaven I had pistolled him where he stood. "

Walters, at gaze in the doorway, listened to the bitter tirade. Wilding, on the settle, sat silent a moment, his elbows on his knees, his chinin his hands, his eyes set and grim as Trenchard's own. Then he masteredhimself, and waved a hand towards the table where stood food and wine. 

"Eat and drink, Nick, " he said, "and we'll discuss what's to be done. "

"It'll need little discussing, " was Nick's savage answer as he rose andwent to pour himself a cup of wine. "There's but one course open to us--instant flight. I am for Minehead to join Hewling's horse, which wentthere yesterday for guns. We might seize a ship somewhere on the coast, and thus get out of this infernal country of mine. "

They discussed the matter in spite of Trenchard's having said that therewas nothing to discuss, and in the end Wilding agreed to go with him. What choice had he? But first he must go to Bridgwater to reassure hiswife. 

"To Bridgwater?" blazed Trenchard, in a passion at the folly of thesuggestion. "You're clearly mad! All the King's forces will be there inan hour or two. "

"No matter, " said Wilding, "I must go. I am dead already, as ithappens. " And he related his singular adventure in Feversham's camp lastnight. 

Trenchard heard him in amazement. If any suspicion crossed his mind thathis friend's love affairs had had anything to do with rousing Fevershamprematurely, he showed no sign of it. But he shook his head at Wilding'sinsistence that he must first go to Lupton House. 

"Shalt send a message, Anthony. Walters will find some one to bear it. But you must not go yourself. "

In the end Mr. Trenchard prevailed upon him to adopt this course, however reluctant he might be. Thereafter they proceeded to make theirpreparations. There were still a couple of nags in the stables, in spiteof the visitation of the militia, and Walters was able to find freshclothes for Mr. Trenchard above-stairs. 

A half-hour later they were ready to set out on this forlorn hope ofescape; the horses were at the door, and Mr. Wilding was in the actof drawing on the fresh pair of boots which Walters had fetched him. Suddenly he paused, his foot in the leg of his right boot, and satbemused a moment. 

Trenchard, watching him, waxed impatient. "What ails you now?" hecroaked. 

Without answering him, Wilding turned to Walters. "Where are the bootsI wore last night?" he asked, and his voice was sharp--oddly sharp, considering how trivial the matter of his speech. 

"In the kitchen, " answered Walters. 

"Fetch me them. " And he kicked off again the boot he had half drawn on. 

"But they are all befouled with mud, sir. "

"Clean them, Walters; clean them and let me have them. "

Still Walters hesitated, pointing out that the boots he had brought hismaster were newer and sounder. Wilding interrupted him impatiently. "Doas I bid you, Walters. " And the old man, understanding nothing, went offon the errand. 

"A pox on your boots!" swore Trenchard. "What does this mean?"

Wilding seemed suddenly to have undergone a transformation. His gloomhad fallen from him. He looked up at his old friend and, smiling, answered him. "It means, Nick, that whilst these excellent boots thatWalters would have me wear might be well enough for a ride to the coastsuch as you propose, they are not at all suited to the journey I intendto make. "

"Maybe, " said Nick with a sniff, "you're intending to journey to TowerHill?"

"In that direction, " answered Mr. Wilding suavely. 

"I am for London, Nick. And you shall come with me. "

"God save us! Do you keep a fool's egg under that nest of hair?"

Wilding explained, and by the time Walters returned with the bootsTrenchard was walking up and down the room in an odd agitation. "Odds mylife, Tony!" he cried at last. "I believe it is the best thing. "

"The only thing, Nick. "

"And since all is lost, why... " Trenchard blew out his cheeks andsmacked fist into palm. "I am with you, " said he. 

CHAPTER XXIV. JUSTICE

It has fallen to my lot in the course of this veridical chronicle of Mr. Anthony Wilding's connection with the Rebellion in the West, and of hiswedding and post-nuptial winning of Ruth Westmacott, to relate certainmatters of incident and personality that may be accounted strange. Butthe strangest yet remains to be related. For in spite of all that hadpassed between Sir Rowland Blake and the Westmacotts on that memorablenight of Sunday to Monday, on which the battle of Sedgemoor was lostand won, towards the end of that same month of July we find him not onlyback at Lupton House, but once again the avowed suitor of Mr. Wilding'swidow. For effrontery this is a matter of which it is to be doubtedwhether history furnishes a parallel. Indeed, until the circumstancesare sifted it seems wild and incredible. So let us consider these. 

On the morrow of Sedgemoor, the town of Bridgwater becameinvested--infested were no whit too strong a word--by the King's forcesunder Feversham and the odious Kirke, and there began a reign of terrorfor the town. The prisons were choked with attainted and suspectedrebels. From Bridgwater to Weston Zoyland the road was become an avenueof gallows, each bearing its repulsive gemmace-laden burden; for theKing's commands were unequivocal, and hanging was the order of the day. 

It is not my desire at this stage to surfeit you with the horrors thatwere perpetrated during that hideous week of July, when no man's lifewas safe from the royal butchers. The awful campaign of Jeifreys andhis four associates was yet to follow, but it is doubtful if it couldcompare in ruthlessness with that of Feversham and Kirke. At least, whenJeifreys came, men were given a trial--or what looked like it--and thereremained them a chance, however slender, of acquittal, as many lived toprove thereafter. With Feversham there was no such chance. And it wasof this circumstance that Sir Rowland Blake took the fullest and thecowardliest advantage. 

There can be no doubt that Sir Rowland was a villain. It might beurged for him that he was a creature of circumstance, and that hadcircumstances been other it is possible he had been a credit to hisname. But he was weak in character, and out of that weakness he haddeveloped a Herculean strength in villainy. Failure had dogged him ineverything he undertook. Broken at the gaming-tables, hounded out oftown by creditors, he was in desperate straits to repair his fortunesand, as we have seen, he was not nice in his endeavours to achieve thatend. 

Ruth Westmacott's fair inheritance had seemed an easy thing to conquer, and to its conquest he had applied himself to suffer defeat as he hadsuffered it in all things else. But Sir Rowland did not yet acknowledgehimself beaten, and the Bridgwater reign of terror dealt him a freshhand--a hand of trumps. With this he came boldly to renew the game. 

He was as smooth as oil at first, a very penitent, confessing himselfmad in what he had done on that Sunday night--mad with despair and rageat having been defeated in the noble task to which he had turned hishands. His penitence might have had little effect upon the Westmacottshad he not known how to insinuate that it might be best for them to lendan ear to it--and a forgiving one. 

"You will tell Mr. Westmacott, Jasper, " he had said, when Jasper toldhim that they could not receive him, "that he would be unwise not to seeme, and the same to Mistress Wilding. "

And old Jasper had carried his message, and had told Richard of thewicked smile that had been on Sir Rowland's lips when he had uttered it. 

Now Richard was in many ways a changed man since that night at WestonZoyland. A transformation seemed to have been wrought in him as odd asit was sudden, and it dated from the moment when with tears in hiseyes he had wrung Wilding's hand in farewell. Where precept had failed, Richard found himself converted by example. He contrasted himself inthat stressful hour with great-souled Anthony Wilding, and saw himselfas he was, a weakling, strong only in vicious ways. Repentance claimedhim; repentance and a fine ambition to be worthier, to resemble asnearly as his nature would allow him this Anthony Wilding whom he tookfor pattern. He changed his ways, abandoned drink and gaming, and gainedthereby a healthier countenance. Then in his zeal he overshot his mark. He developed a taste for Scripture-reading, bethought him of prayers, and even took to saying grace to his meat. Indeed--for conversion, when it comes, is a furious thing--the swing of his soul's pendulumthreatened now to carry him to extremes of virtue and piety. "O Lord!"he would cry a score of times a day, "Thou hast brought up my soul fromthe grave; Thou hast kept me alive that I should not go down to thepit!"

But underlying all this remained unfortunately the inherent weakness ofhis nature--indeed, it was that very weakness and malleability made thissudden and wholesale conversion possible. 

Upon hearing Sir Rowland's message his heart fainted, despite his goodintentions, and he urged that perhaps they had better hear what thebaronet might have to say. 

It was three days after Sedgemoor Fight, and poor Ruth was worn andexhausted with her grief--believing Wilding dead, for he had sent nomessage to inform her of his almost miraculous preservation. The thinghe went to do in London was fraught with such peril that he foresawbut the slenderest chance of escaping with his life. Therefore, he hadargued, why console her now with news that he lived, when in a few daysthe headsman might prove that his end had been but postponed? To do somight be to give her cause to mourn him twice. Again he was haunted bythe thought that, in spite of all, it may have been pity that had sogrievously moved her at their last meeting. Better, then, to wait;better for both their sakes. If he came safely through his ordeal itwould be time enough to bear her news of his preservation. 

In deepest mourning, very white, with dark stains beneath her eyesto tell the tale of anguished vigils, she received Sir Rowland in thewithdrawing-room, her brother at her side. To his expressions ofdeep penitence he found them cold; so he passed on to show them whatdisastrous results might ensue upon a stubborn maintaining of thisattitude of theirs towards him. 

"I have come, " he said, his eyes downcast, his face long-drawn, for hecould play the sorrowful with any hypocrite in England, "to do somethingmore than speak of my grief and regret. I have come to offer proof of itby service. 

"We ask no service of you, sir, " said Ruth, her voice a sword ofsharpness. 

He sighed, and turned to Richard. "This were folly, " he assured hiswhilom friend. "You know the influence I wield. "

"Do I?" quoth Richard, his tone implying doubt. "You think that thebungled matter at Newlington's may have shaken it?" quoth Blake. "WithFeversham, perhaps. But Albemarle, remember, trusts me very fully. Thereare ugly happenings in the town here. Men are being hung like linen ona washing-day. Be not too sure that yourself are free from all danger. "Richard paled under the baronet's baleful, half-sneering glance. "Be notin too great haste to cast me aside, for you may find me useful. "

"Do you threaten, sir?" cried Ruth. 

"Threaten?" quoth he. He turned up his eyes and showed the whites ofthem. "Is it to threaten to promise you my protection; to show you how Ican serve you?--than which I ask no sweeter boon of heaven. A word fromme, and Richard need fear nothing. "

"He need fear nothing without that word, " said Ruth disdainfully. "Suchservice as he did Lord Feversham the other night... "

"Is soon forgotten, " Blake cut in adroitly. "Indeed, 'twill be mostconvenient to his lordship to forget it. Think you he would care to haveit known that 'twas to such a chance he owes the preservation of hisarmy?" He laughed, and added in a voice of much sly meaning, "The timesare full of peril. There's Kirke and his lambs. And there's no sayinghow Kirke might act did he chance to learn what Richard failed to dothat night when he was left to guard the rear at Newlington's!"

"Would you inform him of it?" cried Richard, between anger and alarm. 

Blake thrust out his hands in a gesture of horrified repudiation. "Richard!" he cried in deep reproof and again, "Richard!"

"What other tongue has he to fear?" asked Ruth. "Am I the only one whoknows of it?" cried Blake. "Oh, madam, why will you ever do me suchinjustice? Richard has been my friend--my dearest friend. I wish him soto continue, and I swear that he shall find me his, as you shall find meyours. 

"It is a boon I could dispense with, " she assured him, and rose. "Thistalk can profit little, Sir Rowland, " said she. "You seek to bargain. "

"You shall see how unjust you are, " he cried with deep sorrow. "It isbut fitting, perhaps, after what has passed. It is my punishment. Butyou shall come to acknowledge that you have done me wrong. You shall seehow I shall befriend and protect him. "

That said, he took his leave and went, but he left behind him a shrewdseed of fear in Richard's mind, and of the growth that sprang from itRichard almost unconsciously transplanted something in the days thatfollowed into the heart of Ruth. As a result, to make sure that no harmshould come to her brother, the last of his name and race, she resolvedto receive Sir Rowland, resolved in spite of Diana's outspoken scorn, inspite of Richard's protests--for though afraid, yet he would not have itso--in spite even of her own deep repugnance of the man. 

Days passed and grew to weeks. Bridgwater was settling down to peaceagain--to peace and mourning; the Royalist scourge had spread toTaunton, and Blake lingered on at Lupton House, an unwelcome but anundeniable guest. 

His presence was as detestable to Richard now as it was to Ruth, forRichard had to submit to the mockery with which the town rake lashed hisgodly bearing and altered ways. More than once in gusts of sudden valourthe boy urged his sister to permit him to drive the baronet from thehouse and let him do his worst. But Ruth, afraid for Richard, bade himwait until the times were more settled. When the royal vengeance hadslaked its lust for blood it might matter little, perhaps, what talesSir Rowland might elect to carry. 

And so Sir Rowland remained and waited. He assured himself that he knewhow to be patient, and congratulated himself upon that circumstance. Wilding dead, a little time must now suffice to blunt the sharp edge ofhis widow's grief; let him but await that time, and the rest should beeasy, the battle his. With Richard he did not so much as trouble himselfto reckon. 

Thus he determined, and thus no doubt he would have acted but for anunforeseen contingency. A miserable, paltry creditor had smoked him outin his Somerset retreat, and got a letter to him full of dark hints ofa debtor's gaol. The fellow's name was Swiney, and Sir Rowland knew himfor fierce and pertinacious where a defaulting creditor was concerned. One only course remained him: to force matters with Wilding's widow. Fordays he refrained, fearing that precipitancy might lose him all; it washis wish to do the thing without too much coercion; some, he was notcoxcomb enough to think--coxcomb though he was--might be dispensed with. 

At last one Sunday evening he decided to be done with dallying, and tobring Ruth between the hammer and the anvil of his will. It was thelast Sunday in July, exactly three weeks after Sedgemoor, and theodd coincidence of his having chosen such a day and hour you shallappreciate anon. 

They were on the lawn taking the cool of the evening after anoppressively hot day. By the stone seat, now occupied by Lady Hortonand Diana, Richard lay on the sward at their feet in talk with them, and their talk was of Sir Rowland. Diana--gall in her soul to see thebaronet by way of gaining yet his ends--chid Richard in strong terms forhis weakness in submitting to Blake's constant presence at Lupton House. And Richard meekly took her chiding and promised that, if Ruth would butsanction it, things should be changed upon the morrow. 

Sir Rowland, all unconscious--reckless, indeed--of this, sauntered withRuth some little distance from them, having contrived adroitly to drawher aside. He broke a spell of silence with a dolorous sigh. 

"Ruth, " said he pensively, "I mind me of the last evening on which youand I walked here alone. "

She flashed him a glance of fear and aversion, and stood still. Underhis brow he watched the quick heave of her bosom, the sudden flow andabiding ebb of blood in her face--grown now so thin and wistful--and herealized that before him lay no easy task. He set his teeth for battle. 

"Will you never have a kindness for me, Ruth?" he sighed. 

She turned about, her intent to join the others, a dull anger in hersoul. He sat a hand upon her arm. "Wait!" said he, and the tone inwhich he uttered that one word kept her beside him. His manner changed alittle. "I am tired of this, " said he. 

"Why, so am I, " she answered bitterly. 

"Since we are agreed so far, let us agree to end it. "

"It is all I ask. "

"Yes, but--alas!--in a different way. Listen now. "

"I will not listen. Let me go. 

"I were your enemy did I do so, for you would know hereafter a sorrowand repentance for which nothing short of death could offer you escape. Richard is under suspicion. "

"Do you hark back to that?" The scorn of her voice was deadly. Had itbeen herself he desired, surely that tone had quenched all passion inhim, or else transformed it into hatred. But Blake was playing for afortune, for shelter from a debtor's prison. 

"It has become known, " he continued, "that Richard was one of the earlyplotters who paved the way for Monmouth's coming. I think that that, inconjunction with his betrayal of his trust that night at Newlington's, thereby causing the death of some twenty gallant fellows of KingJames's, will be enough to hang him. "

Her hand clutched at her heart. "What is't you seek?" she cried. It wasalmost a moan. "What is't you want of me?"

"Yourself, " said he. "I love you, Ruth, " he added, and stepped close upto her. 

"O God!" she cried aloud. "Had I a man at hand to kill you for thatinsult!"

And then--miracle of miracles!--a voice from the shrubs by which theystood bore to her ears the startling words that told her her prayer wasanswered there and then. 

"Madam, that man is here. "

She stood frozen. Not more of a statue was Lot's wife in the moment oflooking behind her than she who dared not look behind. That voice! Avoice from the dead, a voice she had heard for the last time in thecottage that was Feversham's lodging at Weston Zoyland. Her wild eyesfell upon Sir Rowland's face. It showed livid; the nether-lip suckedin and caught in the strong teeth, as if to prevent an outcry; the eyeswild with fright. What did it mean? By an effort she wrenched herselfround at last, and a scream broke from her to rouse her aunt, hercousin, and her brother, and bring them hastening towards her across thesweep of lawn. 

Before her, on the edge of the shrubbery, a grey figure stood erect andgraceful, and the face, with its thin lips faintly smiling, its darkeyes gleaming, was the face of Anthony Wilding. And as she stared hemoved forward, and she heard the fall of his foot upon the turf, theclink of his spurs, the swish of his scabbard against the shrubs, andreason told her that this was no ghost. 

She held out her arms to him. "Anthony! Anthony!" She staggered forward, and he was no more than in time to catch her as she swayed. 

He held her fast against him and kissed her brow. "Sweet, " he said, "forgive me that I frightened you. I came by the orchard gate, and mycoming was so timely that I could not hold in my answer to your cry. "

Her eyelids fluttered, she drew a long sighing breath, and nestledcloser to him. "Anthony!" she murmured again, and reached up a hand tostroke his face, to feel that it was truly living flesh. 

And Sir Rowland, realizing, too, by now that here was no ghost, recovered his lost courage. He put a hand to his sword, then withdrewit, leaving the weapon sheathed. Here was a hangman's job, not aswordsman's, he opined--and wisely, for he had had earlier experience ofMr. Wilding's play of steel. 

He advanced a step. "O fool!" he snarled. "The hangman waits for you. "

"And a creditor for you, Sir Rowland, " came the voice of Mr. Trenchard, who now pushed forward through those same shrubs that had masked hisfriend's approach. "A Mr. Swiney. 'Twas I sent him from town. He'slodged at the Bull, and bellows like one when he speaks of what you owehim. There are three messengers with him, and they tell of a debtor'sgaol for you, sweetheart. "

A spasm of fury crossed the face of Blake. "They may have me, andwelcome, when I've told my tale, " said he. "Let me but tell of AnthonyWilding's lurking here, and not only Anthony Wilding, but all the restof you are doomed for harbouring him. You know the law, I think, " hemocked them, for Lady Horton, Diana, and Richard, who had come up, stood now a pace or so away in deepest wonder. "You shall know it betterbefore the night is out, and better still before next Sunday's come. "

"Tush!" said Trenchard, and quoted, "'There's none but Anthony mayconquer Anthony. '"

"'Tis clear, " said Wilding, "you take me for a rebel. An odd mistake!For it chances, Sir Rowland, that you behold in me an accredited servantof the Secretary of State. "

Blake stared, then fell a prey to ironic laughter. He would have spoken, but Mr. Wilding plucked a paper from his pocket, and handed it toTrenchard. 

"Show it him, " said he, and Blake's face grew white again as he read thelines above Sunderland's signature and observed the seals of office. Helooked from the paper to the hated smiling face of Mr. Wilding. 

"You were a spy?" he said, his tone making a question of the odiousstatement. "A dirty spy?"

"Your incredulity is flattering, at least, " said Wilding pleasantly ashe repocketed the parchment, "and it leads you in the right direction. Ineither was nor am a spy. "

"That paper proves it!" cried Blake contemptuously. Having been a spyhimself, ' he was a good judge of the vileness of the office. 

"See to my wife, Nick, " said Wilding sharply, and made as if to transferher to the care of his friend. 

"Nay, " said Trenchard, "'tis your own duty that. Let me discharge theother for you. " And he stepped up to Blake and tapped him briskly on theshoulder. "Sir Rowland, " said he, "you're a knave. " Sir Rowland staredat him. "You're a foul thing--a muckworm--Sir Rowland, " added Trenchardamiably, "and you've been discourteous to a lady, for which may Heavenforgive you--I can't. "

"Stand aside, " Blake bade him, hoarse with passion, blind to all risks. "My affair is with Mr. Wilding. "

"Aye, " said Trenchard, "but mine is with you. If you survive it, you cansettle what other affairs you please--including, belike, your businesswith Mr. Swiney. "

"Not so, Nick, " said Wilding suddenly, and turned to Richard. "Here, Richard! Take her, " he bade his brother-in-law. 

"Anthony, you damned shirk-duty, see to your wife. Leave me to my owndiversions. Sir Rowland, " he reminded the baronet, "I have called you aknave and a foul thing, and faith! if you want it proven, you need butstep down the orchard with me. "

He saw hesitation lingering in Sir Rowland's face, and he uncurled thelast of the whip he carried. "I'd grieve to do a violent thing beforethe ladies, " he murmured deprecatingly. "I'd never respect myself againif I had to drive a gentleman of your quality to the ground of honourwith a horsewhip. But, as God's my life, if you don't go willingly thisinstant, 'tis what will happen. "

Richard's newborn righteousness prompted him to interfere, to seek toavert this threatened bloodshed; his humanity urged him to let mattersbe, and his humanity prevailed. Diana watched this foreshadowing oftragedy with tight lips, pale cheeks. Justice was to be done at last, it seemed, and as her frightened eye fell upon Sir Rowland she knew notwhether to exult or weep. Her mother--understanding nothing--plied hermeanwhile with whispered questions. 

As for Sir Rowland, he looked into the old rake's eyes agleam withwicked mirth, and rage welled up to choke him. He must kill this man. 

"Come, " said he. "I'll see to your fine friend Wilding afterwards. "

"Excellent, " said Trenchard, and led the way through the shrubbery tothe orchard. 

Ruth, reviving, looked up. Her glance met Mr. Wilding's; it quickenedinto understanding, and she stirred. "Is it true? Is it really true?"she cried. "I am being tortured by this dream again!"

"Nay, sweet, it is true; it is true. I am here. Say, shall I stay?"

She clung to him for answer. "And you are in no danger?"

"In none, sweet. I am Mr. Wilding of Zoyland Chase, free to come and goas best shall seem to me. He begged the others to leave them a littlewhile, and he led her to the stone seat by the river. He set her at hisside there and told her the story of his escape from the firing-party, and of the inspiration that had come to him on the morrow to make useof the letter in his boot which Sunderland had given him for Monmouthin the hour of panic. Monmouth's cavalier treatment of him when he hadarrived in Bridgwater had precluded his delivering that letter at thecouncil. There was never another opportunity, nor did he again think ofthe package in the stressful hours that followed. It was not until thefollowing morning that he suddenly remembered it lay undelivered, andbethought him that it might prove a weapon to win him delivery from thedangers that encompassed him. 

"It was a slender chance, " he told her, "but I employed it. I waited inLondon, in hiding, close upon a fortnight ere I had an opportunity ofseeing Sunderland. He laughed me to scorn at first, and threatened mewith the Tower. But I told him the letter was in safe hands and wouldremain there in earnest of his good behaviour, and that did he have mearrested it would instantly be laid before the King and bring his ownhead to the block more surely even than my own. It frightened him; butit had scarcely done so, sweet, had he known that that precious letterwas still in my boot, for my boot was on my leg, and my leg was in theroom with the rest of me. 

"He surrendered at last, and gave me papers proving that Trenchardand I--for I stipulated for old Nick's safety too--were His Majesty'saccredited agents in the West. I loathed the title. But.. "--he spreadhis hands and smiled--"it was that or widowing you. "

She took his face in her hands and stroked it fondly, and they sat thusuntil a dry cough behind them roused them from their joyous silence. Mr. Trenchard was sauntering towards them, his left eye tucked farther underhis hat than usual, his hands behind him. 

"'Tis a thirsty evening, " he informed them. 

"Go, tell Richard so, " said Wilding, who knew naught of Richard'saltered ways. 

"I've thought of it; but haply he's sensitive on the score of drinkingwith me again. He has done it twice to his undoing. "

"He'll do it a third time, no doubt, " said Mr. Wilding curtly, andTrenchard, taking the hint, turned with a shrug, and went up the lawntowards the house. He found Richard in the porch, where he hadlingered fearfully, waiting for news. At sight of Mr. Trenchard's grim, weather-beaten countenance he came forward suddenly. 

"How has it sped?" he asked, his lips twitching on the words. 

"Yonder they sit, " said Trenchard, pointing down the lawn. 

"No, no. I mean... Sir Rowland. "

"Oh, Sir Rowland?" cried the old sinner, as though Sir Rowland weresome matter long forgotten. He sighed. "Alas, poor Swiney! I fear I'vecheated him. "

"You mean?"

"Art slow at inference, Dick. Sir Rowland has passed away in the odourof villainy. "

Richard clasped nervous hands together and raised his colourless eyes toheaven. 

"May the Lord have mercy on his soul!" said he. 

"May He, indeed!" said Trenchard, when he had recovered from hissurprise. "But, " he added pessimistically, "I doubt the rogue's inhell. "

Richard's eyes kindled suddenly, and he quoted from the thirtieth Psalm, "'I will extol thee, O Lord; for Thou hast lifted me up, and hast notmade my foes to rejoice over me. '"

Dumbfounded, wondering, indeed, was Westmacott's mind unhinged, Trenchard scanned him narrowly. Richard caught the glance andmisinterpreted it for one of reproof. He bethought him that his joy wasunrighteous. He stifled it, and forced his lips to sigh "Poor Blake!"

"Poor, indeed!" quoth Trenchard, and adapted a remembered line of hisplay-acting days to suit the case. "The tears live in an onion thatshall water his grave. Though, perhaps, I am forgetting Swiney. " Then, in a brisker tone, "Come, Richard. What like is the muscadine you keepat Lupton House?"

"I have abjured all wine, " said Richard. 

"A plague you have!" quoth Trenchard, understanding less and less. "Haveyou turned Mussuman, perchance?"

"No, " answered Richard sternly; "Christian. "

Trenchard hesitated, rubbing his nose thoughtfully. "Hum, " said he atlength. "Peace be with you, then. I'll leave you here to bay the moonto your heart's content. Perhaps Jasper will know where to find me abrain-wash. " And with a final suspicious, wondering look at the whilombibber, he passed into the house, much exercised on the score of thesanity of this family into which his friend Anthony had married. 

Outside, the twilight shadows were deepening. 

"Shall we home, sweet?" whispered Mr. Wilding. The shadows befriendedher, a veil for her sudden confusion. She breathed something that seemedno more than a sigh, though more it seemed to Anthony Wilding.