Mistress Wilding Read online

  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 Rowl
and."

  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 low-lidded 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 set
Wentworth 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. "Eh, 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 lords
hip 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 over-charged 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 duche-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. But first,ah--wait. Take t'ose six men and Mistaire Wilding. 'Ave 'im shot atonce; you onderstan', eh? Good. Allons, Belmont! my cravat."