diff options
Diffstat (limited to '1457-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 1457-0.txt | 10461 |
1 files changed, 10461 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/1457-0.txt b/1457-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..44f90c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1457-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10461 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1457 *** + +MISTRESS WILDING + +By Rafael Sabatini + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + +CHAPTER I -- POT-VALIANCE + +CHAPTER II -- SIR ROWLAND TO THE RESCUE + +CHAPTER III -- DIANA SCHEMES + +CHAPTER IV -- TERMS OF SURRENDER + +CHAPTER V -- THE ENCOUNTER + +CHAPTER VI -- THE CHAMPION + +CHAPTER VII -- THE NUPTIALS OF RUTH WESTMACOTT + +CHAPTER VIII -- BRIDE AND GROOM + +CHAPTER IX -- MR. TRENCHARD'S COUNTERSTROKE + +CHAPTER X -- THEIR OWN PETARD + +CHAPTER XI -- THE MARPLOT + +CHAPTER XII -- AT THE FORD + +CHAPTER XIII -- “PRO RELIGIONE ET LIBERTATE” + +CHAPTER XIV -- HIS GRACE' IN COUNSEL + +CHAPTER XV -- LYME OF THE KING + +CHAPTER XVI -- PLOTS AND PLOTTERS + +CHAPTER XVII -- MR. WILDING'S RETURN + +CHAPTER XVIII -- BETRAYAL + +CHAPTER XIX -- THE BANQUET + +CHAPTER XX -- THE RECKONING + +CHAPTER XXI -- THE SENTENCE + +CHAPTER XXII -- THE EXECUTION + +CHAPTER XXIII -- MR. WILDING'S BOOTS + +CHAPTER XXIV -- JUSTICE + + + + + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I. POT-VALIANCE + +Then drink it thus, cried the rash young fool, and splashed the contents +of his cup full into the face of Mr. Wilding even as that gentleman, on +his feet, was proposing to drink to the eyes of the young fool's sister. + +The moments that followed were full of interest. A stillness, a +brooding, expectant stillness, fell upon the company--and it numbered +a round dozen--about Lord Gervase's richly appointed board. In the soft +candlelight the oval table shone like a deep brown pool, in which were +reflected the gleaming silver and sparkling crystal that seemed to float +upon it. + +Blake sucked in his nether-lip, his florid face a thought less florid +than its wont, his prominent blue eyes a thought more prominent. Under +its golden periwig old Nick Trenchard's wizened countenance was darkened +by a scowl, and his fingers, long, swarthy, and gnarled, drummed +fretfully upon the table. Portly Lord Gervase Scoresby--their host, a +benign and placid man of peace, detesting turbulence--turned crimson now +in wordless rage. The others gaped and stared--some at young Westmacott, +some at the man he had so grossly affronted--whilst in the shadows of +the hall a couple of lacqueys looked on amazed, all teeth and eyes. + +Mr. Wilding stood, very still and outwardly impassive, the wine +trickling from his long face, which, if pale, was no paler than its +habit, a vestige of the smile with which he had proposed the toast still +lingering on his thin lips, though departed from his eyes. An elegant +gentleman was Mr. Wilding, tall, and seeming even taller by virtue of +his exceeding slenderness. He had the courage to wear his own hair, +which was of a dark brown and very luxuriant; dark brown too were his +sombre eyes, low-lidded and set at a downward slant. From those odd eyes +of his, his countenance gathered an air of superciliousness tempered by +a gentle melancholy. For the rest, it was scored by lines that stamped +it with the appearance of an age in excess of his thirty years. + +Thirty guineas' worth of Mechlin at his throat was drenched, empurpled +and ruined beyond redemption, and on the breast of his blue satin coat a +dark patch was spreading like a stain of blood. + +Richard Westmacott, short, sturdy, and fair-complexioned to the point +of insipidity, watched him sullenly out of pale eyes, and waited. It +was Lord Gervase who broke at last the silence--broke it with an oath, a +thing unusual in one whose nature was almost woman-mild. + +“As God's my life!” he spluttered wrathfully, glowering at Richard. “To +have 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 the +company's malaise. + +“I think,” said Mr. Wilding, with a most singular and excessive +sweetness, “that what Mr. Westmacott has done he has done because he +apprehended me amiss.” + +“No doubt he'll say so,” opined Trenchard with a shrug, and had caution +dug into his ribs by Blake's elbow, whilst Richard made haste to prove +him wrong by saying the contrary. + +“I apprehended you exactly, sir,” he answered, defiance in his voice and +wine-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 could +be. He gently shook his head. “Nay, now,” said he. “You thought, Mr. +Westmacott, that in mentioning your sister, I did so lightly. Is it not +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 to +hold until that moment. He rested his hands upon the table, knuckles +downward, and leaning forward he spoke impressively, his face very +grave; and those present--knowing him as they did--were one and all lost +in wonder at his unusual patience. + +“Mr. Westmacott,” said he, “I do think you are wrong to persist in +affronting me. You have done a thing that is beyond forgiveness, and +yet, when I offer you this opportunity of honourably retrieving...” He +shrugged 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 purpose +set, and under the calm mask of his long white face his mind worked +wickedly and deliberately. The temerity of Westmacott, whose nature was +notoriously timid, had surprised him for a moment. But anon, reading the +boy's mind as readily as though it had been a scroll unfolded for his +instruction, he saw that Westmacott, on the strength of his position +as his sister's brother, conceived himself immune. Mr. Wilding's avowed +courtship of the lady, the hopes he still entertained of winning her, +despite the aversion she was at pains to show him, gave Westmacott +assurance that Mr. Wilding would never elect to shatter his all too +slender chances by embroiling himself in a quarrel with her brother. +And--reading him, thus, aright--Mr. Wilding put on that mask of +patience, luring the boy into greater conviction of the security of +his position. And Richard, conceiving himself safe in his entrenchment +behind the bulwarks of his brothership to Ruth Westmacott, and heartened +further by the excess of wine he had consumed, persisted in insults he +would never otherwise have dared to offer. + +“Who seeks to retrieve?” he crowed offensively, boldly looking up into +the other's face. “It seems you are yourself reluctant.” And he laughed +a 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 in +Trenchard by way of explanation, and might have come to words with Blake +on that same score, but that in that moment Wilding spoke again. + +“Reluctant to do what?” he questioned amiably, looking Westmacott +so straightly between the eyes that the boy shifted uneasily on his +high-backed chair. + +Nevertheless, still full of confidence in the unassailability of his +position, the mad youth answered, “To cleanse yourself of what I threw +at you.” + +“Fan me, ye winds!” gasped Nick Trenchard, and looked with expectancy at +his friend Wilding. + +Now there was one factor with which, in basing with such craven +shrewdness 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 that +borderland where love and hate are so merged that they are scarce to be +distinguished. Embittered by the slights she had put upon him--slights +which his sensitive, lover's fancy had magnified a hundredfold--Anthony +Wilding's frame of mind was grown peculiar. Of his love she would have +none; his kindness she seemingly despised. So be it; she should taste +his cruelty. If she scorned his wooing and forbade him to pursue it, at +least it was not hers to deny him the power to hurt; and in hurting +her that would not be loved by him some measure of fierce and bitter +consolation seemed to await him. + +He realized, perhaps, not quite all this--and to the unworthiness of it +all he gave no thought. But he realized enough as he toyed, as cat with +mouse, with Richard Westmacott, to know that in striking at her through +the worthless person of this brother whom she cherished--and who +persisted in affording him this opportunity--a wicked vengeance would be +his. + +Peace-loving Lord Gervase had heaved himself suddenly to his feet at +Westmacott'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 that +persisting calm of Mr. Wilding's was too much for old Nick Trenchard. He +rose 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 for +Westmacott, he was filled with a fear that the latter might become +dangerous if not crushed at once. Gifted with a shrewd knowledge of +men, acquired during a chequered life of much sour experience, old +Nick instinctively mistrusted Richard. He had known him for a fool, +a weakling, a babbler, and a bibber of wine. Out of such elements a +villain is soon compounded, and Trenchard had cause to fear the form +of villainy that lay ready to Richard's hand. For it chanced that Mr. +Trenchard was second cousin to that famous John Trenchard, so lately +tried for treason and acquitted to the great joy of the sectaries of the +West, and still more lately--but yesterday, in fact--fled the country to +escape the rearrest ordered in consequence of that excessive joy. Like +his more famous cousin, Nick Trenchard was one of the Duke of Monmouth's +most active agents; and Westmacott, like Wilding, Vallancey, and one +or two others at that board, stood, too, committed to the cause of the +Protestant Champion. + +Out of his knowledge of the boy Trenchard was led to fear that if he +were leniently dealt with now, tomorrow, when, sober, he came to realize +the grossness of the thing he had done and the unlikelihood of its being +forgiven him, there was no saying but that to protect himself he might +betray Wilding's share in the plot that was being hatched. That in +itself would be bad enough; but there might be worse, for he could +scarcely betray Wilding without betraying others and--what mattered +most--the Cause itself. He must be dealt with out of hand, Trenchard +opined, and dealt with ruthlessly. + +“I think, Anthony,” said he, “that we have had words enough. Shall you +be disposing of Mr. Westmacott to-morrow, or must I be doing it for +you?” + +With a gasp of dismay young Richard twisted in his chair to confront +this fresh and unsuspected antagonist. What danger was this that he had +overlooked? 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 on +Westmacott's overheated brain. + +“I protest you are vastly kind, Nick. But I intend, myself, to have the +pleasure of killing Mr. Westmacott.” And his smile fell now in mockery +upon the disillusioned lad. + +Crushed by that bolt from the blue, Richard sat as if stunned, the flush +receding from his face until his very lips were livid. The shock had +sobered him, and, sobered, he realized in terror what he had done. And +yet even sober he was amazed to find that the staff upon which with such +security he had leaned should have proved rotten. True he had put much +strain 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 even +had he done so it is odds none would have heard him, for the late calm +was of a sudden turned to garboil. Every man of that company--with +the sole exception of Richard himself--was on his feet, and all were +speaking 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. Dominating +the others in the Babel rose the voice of Sir Rowland Blake--impecunious +Blake; Blake lately of the Guards, who had sold his commission as the +only thing remaining him upon which he could raise money; Blake, that +other suitor for Miss Westmacott's hand, the suitor favoured by her +brother. + +“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 laughed +unpleasantly. “You should get yourself bled one of these days, Sir +Rowland,” he advised. “There may be no great danger yet; but a man can't +be too careful when he wears a narrow neckcloth.” + +Blake--a short, powerfully built man--took no heed of him, but looked +straight at Mr. Wilding, who, smiling ever, calmly returned the gaze of +those prominent blue eyes. + +“You will suffer me, Sir Rowland,” said he sweetly, “to be the judge of +whom I will and whom I will not meet.” + +Sir Rowland flushed under that mocking glance and caustic tone. “But he +is drunk,” he repeated feebly. + +“I think,” said Trenchard, “that he is hearing something that will make +him 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 prating +just now. I make no doubt but that even at this late hour if you were to +make apology...” + +“It would be idle,” came Wilding's icy voice to quench the gleam of hope +kindling anew in Richard's breast. The lad saw that he was lost, and he +is a poor thing, indeed, who cannot face the worst once that worst is +shown to be irrevocable. He rose with some semblance of dignity. + +“It is as I would wish,” said he, but his livid face and staring eyes +belied the valour of his words. He cleared his huskiness from his +throat. “Sir Rowland,” said he, “will you act for me?” + +“Not I!” cried Blake with an oath. “I'll be no party to the butchery of +a boy unfledged.” + +“Unfledged?” echoed Trenchard. “Body o' me! 'Tis a matter Wilding will +amend to-morrow. He'll fledge him, never fear. He'll wing him on his +flight to heaven.” + +Of set purpose did Trenchard add this fuel to the blazing fire. It was +no part of his views that this encounter should be avoided. If Richard +Westmacott were allowed to live after what had passed, there were too +many 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 gentleman +who 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 that +Saturday night to his sister's house in Bridgwater, a sobered man and an +anguished. He had committed a folly which was like to cost him his life +to-morrow. Other follies had he committed in his twenty-five years--for +he was not quite the babe that Blake had represented him, although he +certainly looked nothing like his age. But to-night he had contrived to +set the crown to all. He had good cause to blame himself and to curse +the miscalculation that had emboldened him to launch himself upon +a course of insult against this Wilding, whom he hated with all the +currish 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. It +happened that through his own fault young Richard was all but penniless. +The pious, nonconformist soul of Sir Geoffrey Lupton--the wealthy uncle +from whom he had had great expectations--had been so stirred to anger by +Richard's vicious and besotted ways that he had left every guinea that +was his, every perch of land, and every brick of edifice to Richard's +half-sister Ruth. At present things were not so bad for the worthless +boy. Ruth worshipped him. He was a sacred charge to her from their dead +father, who, knowing the stoutness of her soul and the feebleness of +Richard's, had in dying imposed on her the care and guidance of her +graceless brother. But Ruth, in all things strong, was weak with Richard +out 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. But +when Richard's calculating mind came to give thought to the future he +found that this occasioned him some care. Rich ladies, even when they +do not happen to be equipped in addition with Ruth's winsome beauty and +endearing nature, are not wont to go unmarried. It would have pleased +Richard best to have had her remain a spinster. But he well knew that +this was a matter in which she might have a voice of her own, and it +behoved him betimes to take wise measures where possible husbands were +concerned. + +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 even +because of--the reputation for wildness that clung to him. That he was +known as Wild Wilding to the countryside is true; but it were unfair--as +Richard knew--to attach to this too much importance; for the adoption +of so obvious an alliteration the rude country minds needed but a slight +encouragement. From the first it looked as if Ruth might favour him, and +Richard's fears assumed more definite shape. If Wilding married her--and +he was a bold, masterful fellow who usually accomplished what he aimed +at--her fortune and estate must cease to be a pleasant pasture land for +bovine Richard. The boy thought at first of making terms with Wilding; +the idea was old; it had come to him when first he had counted the +chances of his sister's marrying. But he found himself hesitating to +lay his proposal before Mr. Wilding. And whilst he hesitated Mr. +Wilding made obvious headway. Still Richard dared not do it. There was +a something in Wilding's eye that cried him danger. Thus, in the end, +since he could not attempt a compromise with this fine fellow, the only +course remaining was that of direct antagonism--that is to say, direct +as Richard understood directness. Slander was the weapon he used in +that secret duel; the countryside was well stocked with stories of Mr. +Wilding's many indiscretions. I do not wish to suggest that these were +unfounded. Still, the countryside, cajoled by its primitive sense of +humour into that alliteration I have mentioned, found that having given +this dog its bad name, it was under the obligation of keeping up his +reputation. So it exaggerated. Richard, exaggerating those exaggerations +in his turn, had some details, as interesting and unsavoury as they were +in 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 but +further strengthened by malign representations of his character. She +seizes with joy the chance of affording proof of her great loyalty, and +defies the world and its evil to convince her that the man to whom she +has given her trust is not most worthy of it. Not so, however, with the +first timid bud of incipient interest. Slander nips it like a frost; in +deadliness it is second only to ridicule. + +Ruth Westmacott lent an ear to her brother's stories, incredulous only +until she remembered vague hints she had caught from this person and +from that, whose meaning was now made clear by what Richard told her, +which, incidentally, they served to corroborate. Corroboration, too, did +the tale of infamy receive from the friendship that prevailed between +Mr. Wilding and Nick Trenchard, the old ne'er-dowell, who in his +time--as everybody knew--had come so low, despite his gentle birth, as +to have been one of a company of strolling players. Had Mr. Wilding +been other than she now learnt he was, he would surely not cherish an +attachment for a person so utterly unworthy. Clearly, they were birds of +a plumage. + +And so, her maiden purity outraged at the thought that she had been in +danger of lending a willing ear to the wooing of such a man, she +had crushed this love which she blushed to think was on the point of +throwing out roots to fasten on her soul, and was sedulous thereafter in +manifesting the aversion which she accounted it her duty to foster for +Mr. Wilding. + +Richard had watched and smiled in secret, taking pride in the cunning +way he had wrought this change--that cunning which so often is given +to the stupid by way of compensation for the intelligence that has been +withheld them. + +And now what time discountenanced, Wilding fumed and fretted all in +vain, Sir Rowland Blake, fresh from London and in full flight from his +creditors, flashed like a comet into the Bridgwater heavens. He dazzled +the eyes and might have had for the asking the heart and hand of Diana +Horton--Ruth's cousin. Her heart, indeed, he had without the asking, for +Diana fell straightway in love with him and showed it, just as he showed +that he was not without response to her affection. There were some +tender passages between them; but Blake, for all his fine exterior, was +a beggar, and Diana far from rich, and so he rode his feelings with +a 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 his +first glimpse of Ruth, his first knowledge of her fortune. He went down +before Ruth's eyes like a man of heart; he went down more lowly still +before her possessions like a man of greed; and poor Diana might console +herself with whom she could. + +Her brother watched him, appraised him, and thought that in this broken +gamester he had a man after his own heart; a man who would be ready +enough for such a bargain as Richard had in mind; ready enough to +sell what rags might be left him of his honour so that he came by the +wherewithal to mend his broken fortunes. + +The twain made terms. They haggled like any pair of traders out of +Jewry, but in the end it was settled--by a bond duly engrossed and +sealed--that on the day that Sir Rowland married Ruth he should make +over to her brother certain values that amounted to perhaps a quarter of +her possessions. There was no cause to think that Ruth would be greatly +opposed to this--not that that consideration would have weighed with +Richard. + +But now that all essentials were so satisfactorily determined a vexation +was offered Westmacott by the circumstance that his sister seemed nowise +taken with Sir Rowland. She suffered him because he was her brother's +friend; on that account she even honoured him with some measure of her +own friendship; but to no greater intimacy did her manner promise to +admit him. And meanwhile, Mr. Wilding persisted in the face of all +rebuffs. Under his smiling mask he hid the smart of the wounds she dealt +him, until it almost seemed to him that from loving her he had come to +hate 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 Wilding +would not prosper, and that, for the season, was all that need have +mattered to young Richard. + +But in his cups that night he had thought in some dim way to precipitate +matters by affronting Mr. Wilding, secure, as I have shown, in his +belief that Wilding would perish sooner than raise a finger against +Ruth's brother. And his drunken astuteness, it seemed, had been to +his mind as a piece of bottle glass to the sight, distorting the image +viewed 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, of +himself, and even of his sister, whom he blamed for this awful situation +into which he had tumbled; at other times he wept from self-pity and +sheer fright. + +Once, indeed, he imagined that he saw light, that he saw a way out +of the peril that hemmed him in. His mind turned for a moment in the +direction that Trenchard had feared it might. He bethought him of his +association with the Monmouth Cause--into which he had been beguiled by +the sordid hope of gain--and of Wilding's important share in that same +business. He was even moved to rise and ride that very night for Exeter +to betray to Albemarle the Cause itself, so that he might have Wilding +laid by the heels. But if Trenchard had been right in having little +faith in Richard's loyalty, he had, it seems, in fearing treachery +made the mistake of giving Richard credit for more courage than was his +endowment. For when, sitting up in bed, fired by his inspiration, young +Westmacott came to consider the questions the Lord-Lieutenant of Devon +would be likely to ask him, he reflected that the answers he must return +would so incriminate himself that he would be risking his own neck in +the betrayal. He flung himself down again with a curse and a groan, and +thought 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 all +a-tremble. He rose betimes and dressed, but stirred not from his chamber +till in the garden under his window he heard his sister's voice, and +that of Diana Horton, joined anon by a man's deeper tones, which he +recognized with a start as Blake's. What did the baronet here so +early? Assuredly it must concern the impending duel. Richard knew no +mawkishness on the score of eavesdropping. He stole to his window and +lent an ear, but the voices were receding, and to his vexation he caught +nothing of what was said. He wondered how soon Vallancey would come, and +for what hour the encounter had been appointed. Vallancey had remained +behind at Scoresby Hall last night to make the necessary arrangements +with Trenchard, who was to act for Mr. Wilding. + +Now it chanced that Trenchard and Wilding had business--business of +Monmouth's--to transact in Taunton that morning; business which might +not be delayed. There were odd rumours afloat in the West; persistent +rumours which had come fast upon the heels of the news of Argyle's +landing in Scotland; rumours which maintained that Monmouth himself was +coming over from Holland. These tales Wilding and his associates had +ignored. The Duke, they knew, was to spend the summer in retreat in +Sweden, with (it was alleged) the Lady Henrietta Wentworth to bear him +company, and in the mean time his trusted agents were to pave the way +for his coming in the following spring. Of late the lack of direct news +from the Duke had been a source of mystification to his friends in the +West, and now, suddenly, the information went abroad--it was something +more than rumour this time--that a letter of the greatest importance +had been intercepted. From whom that letter proceeded or to whom it was +addressed, could not yet be discovered. But it seemed clear that it +was connected with the Monmouth Cause, and it behoved Mr. Wilding to +discover what he could. With this intent he rode with Trenchard that +Sunday morning to Taunton, hoping that at the Red Lion Inn--that +meeting-place of dissenters--he might cull reliable information. + +It was in consequence of this that the meeting with Richard Westmacott +was not to take place until the evening, and therefore Vallancey came +not 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 valued +ally in the winning of Ruth's hand than out of any excessive concern for +Richard himself--had risen early and hastened to Lupton House, in the +hope, which he recognized as all but forlorn, of yet being able to avert +the 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 the +lawn beyond. There was a wicket gate that stood unlatched, and availing +himself of this Sir Rowland tethered his horse in the lane and threading +his way briskly through the orchard came suddenly upon the girls. +Their laughter reached him as he advanced, and told him they could know +nothing yet of Richard's danger. + +On his abrupt and unexpected apparition, Diana paled and Ruth flushed +slightly, whereupon Sir Rowland might have bethought him, had he been +book-learned, of the axiom, “Amour qui rougit, fleurette; amour qui +plit, drame du coeur.” + +He doffed his hat and bowed, his fair ringlets tumbling forward till +they hid his face, which was exceeding grave. + +Ruth gave him good morning pleasantly. “You London folk are earlier +risers 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 what +here awaited me.” + +“Awaited you?” quoth Diana, and tossed her head archly disdainful. “La! +Sir Rowland, your modesty will be the death of you.” Archness became +this lady of the sunny hair, tip-tilted nose, and complexion that +outvied the apple-blossoms. She was shorter by a half-head than her +darker cousin, and made up in sprightliness what she lacked of Ruth's +gentle dignity. The pair were foils, each setting off the graces of the +other. + +“I protest I am foolish,” answered Blake, a shade discomfited. “But I +want 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 a +premonition of the untoward message that he bore. It was Ruth who asked +him to explain himself. + +“Will you walk, ladies?” said Blake, and waved the hand that still held +his 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 the +river, 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 if +suddenly 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 the +news. “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 warm +pallor of her face. + +“With Mr. Wilding?” she cried. “That man!” And though she said no more +her 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 which +he applied himself with a certain zest; whatever might be the outcome +of the affair, there was no denying that he was by way of reaping profit +from it by the final overthrow of an acknowledged rival. And when he +told her how Richard had flung his wine in Wilding's face when Wilding +stood 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 the +light of that she saw precisely what capital this tale-bearer sought to +make. The occasion might not be without its opportunities for her; and +to begin with, it was no part of her intention that Wilding should be +thus maligned and finally driven from the lists of rivalry with Blake. +Upon Wilding, indeed, and his notorious masterfulness did she found what +hopes she still entertained of winning back Sir Rowland. + +“Surely,” said she, “you are a little hard on Mr. Wilding. You speak as +if 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 of +heat. + +Diana shrugged her shoulders. “You may not love him, but you can't +ordain that he shall not love you. You are very harsh, I think. To me it +rather seems that Richard acted like a boor.” + +“But, mistress,” cried Sir Rowland, half out of countenance, and +stifling his vexation, “in these matters it all depends upon the +manner.” + +“Why, yes,” she agreed; “and whatever Mr. Wilding's manner, if I know +him 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 name +about 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 her +listening cousin. When all is said, poor Diana appears--despite her +cunning--to have been short-sighted. Aiming at a defined advantage +in the game she played, she either ignored or held too lightly the +concomitant 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 lacked +respect.” + +“What signify the words!” cried Blake, now almost out of temper. +“I don't recall them. It is the air with which he pledged Mistress +Westmacott.” + +“Ah yes--the manner,” quoth Diana irritatingly. “We'll let that be. +Richard threw his wine in Mr. Wilding's face? What followed then? What +said Mr. Wilding?” + +Sir Rowland remembered what Mr. Wilding had said, and bethought him +that it were impolitic in him to repeat it. At the same time, not having +looked for this cross-questioning, he was all unprepared with any likely +answer. 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 and +sluggish of invention, Sir Rowland was compelled, to his unspeakable +chagrin, to fall back upon the truth. + +“Is not that proof?” cried Diana in triumph. “Mr. Wilding was reluctant +to quarrel with Richard. He was even ready to swallow such an affront +as that, thinking it might be offered him under a misconception of his +meaning. He plainly professed the respect that filled him for Mistress +Westmacott, and yet, and yet, Sir Rowland, you tell us that he lacked +respect!” + +“Madam,” cried Blake, turning crimson, “that matters nothing. It was not +the 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 behave +on the like occasion,” Blake protested. “But we waste words,” he cried. +“I did not come to defend Richard, nor just to bear you this untoward +news. I came to consult with you, in the hope that we might find some +way to avert this peril from your brother.” + +“What way is possible?” asked Ruth, and sighed. “I would not... I would +not 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 question +is that Wilding said last night that he would kill the boy, and what +Wilding says he does. Out of the affection that I bear Richard is born +my anxiety to save him despite himself. It is in this that I come to +seek your aid or offer mine. Allied we might accomplish what singly +neither of us could.” + +He had at once the reward of his cunning speech. Ruth held out her +hands. “You are a good friend, Sir Rowland,” she said, with a pale +smile; and pale too was the smile with which Diana watched them. No more +than Ruth did she suspect the sincerity of Blake's protestations. + +“I am proud you should account me that,” said the baronet, taking Ruth's +hands and holding them a moment; “and I would that I could prove myself +your friend in this to some good purpose. Believe me, if Wilding would +consent 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 to +no such thing; but it earned him a glance of greater kindliness from +Ruth--who began to think that hitherto perhaps she had done him some +injustice--and a look of greater admiration from Diana, who saw in him +her 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, like +a brave man, the notion of being thought boastful were unpleasant, he +passed on to the discussion of ways and means by which the coming duel +might be averted. But when they came to grips with facts, it seemed that +Sir Rowland had as little idea of what might be done as had the ladies. +True, he began by making the obvious suggestion that Richard should +tender Wilding a full apology. That, indeed, was the only door of +escape, and Blake shrewdly suspected that what the boy had been +unwilling to do last night--partly through wine, and partly through +the fear of looking fearful in the eyes of Lord Gervase Scoresby's +guests--he might be willing enough to do to-day, sober and upon +reflection. For the rest Blake was as far from suspecting Mr. Wilding's +peculiar frame of mind as had Richard been last night. This his words +showed. + +“I am satisfied,” said he, “that if Richard were to go to-day to Wilding +and express his regret for a thing done in the heat of wine, Wilding +would be forced to accept it as satisfaction, and none would think that +it did other than reflect credit upon Richard.” + +“Are you very sure of that?” asked Ruth, her tone dubious, her glance +hopefully anxious. + +“What else is to be thought?” + +“But,” put in Diana shrewdly, “it were an admission of Richard's that he +had 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 was +for Ruth to reveal the flaw to him. + +“Do you not understand, then,” she asked him sadly, “that such an +admission on Richard's part would amount to a lie--a lie uttered to save +himself from an encounter, the worst form of lie, a lie of cowardice? +Surely, Sir Rowland, your kindly anxiety for his life outruns your +anxiety 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 his +companions, and grew afraid that he--the town gallant--might come to +look foolish in the eyes of these country ladies. He protested again +his love for Richard, and increased Ruth's terror by his mention of +Wilding's swordsmanship; but when all was said, he saw that he had best +retreat ere he spoiled the good effect which he hoped his solicitude had +created. 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 his +presence, when he departed Sir Rowland left behind him a distress +amounting 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 to +him, was alarmed for him. Besides, her own interests urged the averting +of this encounter. And so she held in accents almost tearful that +something must be done to save him. + +This, too, appeared to be Richard's own view, when presently--within a +few minutes of Blake's departure--he came to join them. They watched +his approach in silence, and both noted--though with different eyes and +different feelings--the pallor of his fair face, the dark lines under +his colourless eyes. His condition was abject, and his manners, never +of the best--for there was much of the spoiled child about Richard--were +clearly suffering from it. + +He stood before his sister and his cousin, moving his eyes shiftily from +one to the other, rubbing his hands nervously together. + +“Your precious friend Sir Rowland has been here,” said he, and it was +not clear from his manner which of them he addressed. “Not a doubt but +he will have brought you the news.” He seemed to sneer. + +Ruth advanced towards him, her face grave, her sweet eyes full of +pitying concern. She placed a hand upon his sleeve. “My poor Richard...” + she began, but he shook off her kindly touch, laughing angrily--a mere +cackle of irritability. + +“Odso!” he interrupted her. “It is a thought late for this mock +kindliness!” + +Diana, in the background, arched her brows, then with a shrug turned +aside and seated herself on the stone seat by which they had been +standing. 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 you +known any real care, any true concern for me, you had not given cause +for this affair,” he chid her peevishly. + +“What are you saying?” she cried, and it occurred to her at last that +Richard was afraid. He was a coward! She felt as she would faint. + +“I am saying,” said he, hunching his shoulders, and shivering as he +spoke, yet, his glance unable to meet hers, “that it is your fault that +I am like to get my throat cut before sunset.” + +“My fault?” she murmured. The slope of lawn seemed to wave and swim +about her. “My fault?” + +“The fault of your wanton ways,” he accused her harshly. “You have so +played fast and loose with this fellow Wilding that he makes free of +your name in my very presence, and puts upon me the need to get myself +killed by him to save the family honour.” + +He would have said more in this strain, but something in her glance gave +him pause. There fell a silence. From the distance came the melodious +pealing 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. It +was Diana who spoke presently. Just indignation stirred her, and, when +stirred, she knew no pity, set no limits to her speech. + +“I think, indeed,” said she, her voice crisp and merciless, “that the +family honour will best be saved if Mr. Wilding kills you. It is in +danger while you live. You are a coward, Richard.” + +“Diana!” he thundered--he could be mighty brave with women--whilst Ruth +clutched her arm to restrain her. + +But she continued, undeterred: “You are a coward--a pitiful coward,” she +told him. “Consult your mirror. It will tell you what a palsied thing +you 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 than +you to compel my obedience,” she told him. “La!” she fumed, “I'll swear +that had Mr. Wilding overheard what you have said to your sister, you +would have little to fear from his sword. A cane would be the weapon +he'd use on you.” + +Richard's pale eyes flamed malevolently; a violent rage possessed him +and flooded out his fear, for nothing can so goad a man as an offensive +truth. Ruth approached him again; again she took him by the arm, seeking +to soothe his over-troubled spirit; but again he shook her off. And then +to save the situation came a servant from the house. So lost in anger +was all Richard's sense of decency that the mere supervention of the +man would not have been enough to have silenced him could he have found +adequate words in which to answer Mistress Horton. But even as he racked +his mind, the footman's voice broke the silence, and the words the +fellow uttered did what his presence alone might not have sufficed to +do. + +“Mr. Vallancey is asking for you, sir,” he announced. + +Richard started. Vallancey! He had come at last, and his coming was +connected with the impending duel. The thought was paralyzing to young +Westmacott. The flush of anger faded from his face; its leaden hue +returned and he shivered as with cold. At last he mastered himself +sufficiently 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 upon +the ladies, paused a moment, still irresolute. Then, as by an effort, +he followed the servant across the lawn and vanished through the ivied +porch. + +As he went Diana flew to her cousin. Her shallow nature was touched with +transient pity. “My poor Ruth...” she murmured soothingly, and set her +arm about the other's waist. There was a gleam of tears in the eyes Ruth +turned upon her. Together they came to the granite seat and sank to it +side by side, fronting the placid river. There Ruth, her elbows on her +knees, cradled her chin in her hands, and with a sigh of misery stared +straight 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 Richard +is afraid.” + +Ruth shivered. “Ah, no,” she pleaded--she knew how true was the +impeachment. “Don't say it, Diana.” + +“It matters little that I say it,” snorted Diana impatiently. “It is a +truth proclaimed by the first glance at him.” + +“He is in poor health, perhaps,” said Ruth, seeking miserably to excuse +him. + +“Aye,” said Diana. “He's suffering from an ague--the result of a lack +of 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 indignation +swept through her gentle soul, but was gone at once, leaving an +ineffable sadness in its room. What was to be done? She turned to Diana +for counsel. But Diana was still whipping up her scorn. + +“If he goes out to meet Mr. Wilding, he'll shame himself and every man +and woman that bears the name of Westmacott,” said she, and struck a new +fear 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 be +mended?” she inquired. “Will it save his honour to have Mr. Wilding come +and cane him?” + +“He'd not do that?” said Ruth. + +“Not if you asked him--no,” was Diana's sharp retort, and she caught her +breath on the last word of it, for just then the Devil dropped the seed +of a suggestion into the fertile soil of her lovesick soul. + +“Diana!” Ruth exclaimed in reproof, turning to confront her cousin. But +Diana's mind started upon its scheming journey was now travelling fast. +Out of that devil's seed there sprang with amazing rapidity a tree-like +growth, throwing out branches, putting forth leaves, bearing already--in +her 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?” Ruth +frowned, perplexed and thoughtful, and now Diana turned to her with +the lively eye of one into whose mind has leapt a sudden inspiration. +“Ruth!” she exclaimed. “Why, indeed, should you not ask him to forgo +this 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 you +have, 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 I +in 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 yet +time.” + +Ruth rose and moved away a step or two towards the water, deep in +thought. Diana watched her furtively and slyly, the rapid rise and fall +of her maiden breast betraying the agitation that filled her as she +waited--like a gamester--for the turn of the card that would show her +whether she had won or lost. For she saw clearly how Ruth might be so +compromised that there was something more than a chance that Diana would +no longer have cause to account her cousin a barrier between herself and +Blake. + +“I could not go alone,” said Ruth, and her tone was that of one still +battling 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. “Be +sure 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 to +push the matter forward--acknowledge himself in the wrong, do whatever +you may ask him. He can do it. None will question his courage. It has +been proved too often.” She rose and came to Ruth. She set her arm +about her waist again, and poured shrewd persuasion over her cousin's +indecision. “To-night you'll thank me for this thought,” she assured +her. “Why do you pause? Are you so selfish as to think more of the +little humiliation that may await you than of Richard's life and +honour?” + +“No, no,” Ruth protested feebly. + +“What, then? Is Richard to go out and slay his honour by a show of fear +before 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 Zoyland +Chase at once.” + +They went without a word to Richard who was still closeted with +Vallancey, and riding forth they crossed the river and took the road +that, skirting Sedgemoor, runs south to Weston Zoyland. They rode with +little said until they came to the point where the road branches on the +left, throwing out an arm across the moor towards Chedzoy, a mile or so +short 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 am +sick and giddy.” And she slipped a thought heavily to the ground. In an +instant Ruth had dismounted and was beside her. Diana was pale, which +lent colour to her complaint, for Ruth was not to know that the pallor +sprang from her agitation in wondering whether the ruse she attempted +would succeed or not. + +A short stone's-throw from where they had halted stood a cottage back +from the road in a little plot of ground, the property of a kindly old +woman known to both. There Diana expressed the wish to rest awhile, and +thither they took their way, Ruth leading both horses and supporting her +faltering cousin. The dame was all solicitude. Diana was led into her +parlour, 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 the +wings of the great chair, and languidly assured them she would be better +soon if she were but allowed to rest awhile. Ruth drew up a stool to +sit beside her, for all that her soul fretted at this delay. What if in +consequence she should reach Zoyland Chase too late--to find that Mr. +Wilding had gone forth already? But even as she was about to sit, it +seemed that the same thought had of a sudden come to Diana. The girl +leaned forward, thrusting--as if by an effort--some of her faintness +from her. + +“Do not wait for me, Ruth,” she begged. + +“I must, child.” + +“You must not;” the other insisted. “Think what it may mean--Richard's +life, perhaps. No, no, Ruth, dear. Go on; go on to Zoyland. I'll follow +you 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 at +once,” 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. At +any moment Mr. Wilding may go forth, and your chance is lost. I'll not +have 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, and +yet if she delayed she was endangering Richard's life. By the very +strength 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, no +ordinary 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 the +high chair, and took with her Diana's feeble assurances that she would +follow 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 old +Walters, the butler at Zoyland Chase. Old and familiar servant though he +was, he kept from his countenance all manifestation of the deep surprise +occasioned him by the advent of Mistress Westmacott, unescorted. + +“He rode... at dawn?” faltered Ruth, and for a moment she stood +irresolute, afraid and pondering in the shade of the great pillared +porch. Then she took heart again. If he rode at dawn, it was not in +quest of Richard that he went, since it had been near eleven o'clock +when she had left Bridgwater. He must have gone on other business first, +and, doubtless, before he went to the encounter he would be returning +home. “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 hour +to 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's +increasing if undisplayed astonishment. “Let my horse be seen to.” + +He bowed his obedience, and she followed him--a slender, graceful +figure in her dove-coloured riding-habit laced with silver--across the +stone-flagged vestibule, through the cool gloom of the great hall, into +the spacious library of which he held the door. + +“Mistress Horton is following me,” she informed the butler. “Will you +bring her to me when she comes?” + +Bowing again in silent acquiescence, the white-haired servant closed the +door and left her. She stood in the centre of the great room, drawing +off her riding-gloves, perturbed and frightened beyond all reason at +finding herself for the first time under Mr. Wilding's roof. He was +most handsomely housed. His grandfather, who had travelled in Italy, +had built the Chase upon the severe and noble lines which there he had +learnt to admire, and he had embellished its interior, too, with many +treasures of art which with that intent he had there collected. + +She dropped her whip and gloves on to a table, and sank into a chair +to wait, her heart fluttering in her throat. Time passed, and in the +silence of the great house her anxiety was gradually quieted, until at +last through the long window that stood open came faintly wafted to her +on the soft breeze of that June morning the sound of a church clock at +Weston Zoyland chiming twelve. She rose with a start, bethinking her +suddenly of Diana, and wondering why she had not yet arrived. Was the +child's indisposition graver than she had led Ruth to suppose? She +crossed to the windows and stood there drumming impatiently upon the +pane, her eyes straying idly over the sweep of elm-fringed lawns towards +the river gleaming silvery here and there between the trees in the +distance. + +Suddenly she caught a sound of hoofs. Was this Diana? She sped to the +other window, the one that stood open, and now she heard the crunch of +gravel and the champ of bits and the sound of more than two pairs of +hoofs. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Wilding and Mr. Trenchard. + +She felt the colour flying from her cheeks; again her heart fluttered in +her throat, and it was in vain that with her hand she sought to repress +the heaving of her breast. She was afraid; her every instinct bade her +slip 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 gather +courage 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 for +trafficking with doxies?” She crimsoned an instant at the coarse word +and set her teeth, only to pale again the next. The voices were +lowered so that she heard not what was said; one sharp exclamation she +recognized to be in Wilding's voice, but caught not the word he uttered. +There followed a pause, and she stirred uneasily, waiting. Then +came swift steps and jangling spurs across the hall, the door opened +suddenly, and Mr. Wilding, in a scarlet riding-coat, his boots white +with dust, stood bowing to her from the threshold. + +“Your servant, Mistress Westmacott,” she heard him murmur. “My house is +deeply honoured.” + +She dropped him a half-curtsy, pale and tongue-tied. He turned to +deliver hat and whip and gloves to Walters, who had followed him, then +closed 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 in +haste, and Walters tells me that already have you waited nigh upon an +hour. Will you not sit, madam?” And he advanced a chair. His long white +face was set like a mask; but his dark, slanting eyes devoured her. He +guessed the reason of her visit. She who had humbled him, who had driven +him to the very borders of despair, was now to be humbled and to despair +before him. Under the impassive face his soul exulted fiercely. + +She disregarded the chair he proffered. “My visit... has no doubt +surprised you,” she began, tremulous and hesitating. + +“I' faith, no,” he answered quietly. “The cause, after all, is not very +far to seek. You are come on Richard's behalf.” + +“Not on Richard's,” she answered. “On my own.” And now that the ice was +broken, the suspense of waiting over, she found the tide of her courage +flowing fast. “This encounter must not take place, Mr. Wilding,” she +informed him. + +He raised his eyebrows--fine and level as her own--his thin lips smiled +never so faintly. “It is, I think,” said he, “for Richard to prevent it. +The chance was his last night. It shall be his again when we meet. If he +will express regret...” He left his sentence there. In truth he mocked +her, 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 glance +steady. + +“That is impossible,” she told him. “Last night--as I have the story--he +might have done it without shame. To-day it is too late. To tender his +apology 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 I +can suggest. You will do me the justice, I am sure, to see that in +expressing my willingness to accept your brother's expressions of regret +I am proving myself once more your very obedient servant. But that it is +you who ask it--and whose desires are my commands--I should let no man +go unpunished for an insult such as your brother put upon me.” + +She winced at his words, at the bow with which he had professed himself +once more her servant. + +“It is no clemency that you offer him,” she said. “You leave him a +choice 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 to +learn. There was, of course, another way, and she had thought of it; +but she lacked--as well she might, all things considered--the courage +to propose it. She had come to Mr. Wilding in the vague hope that he +himself would choose the heroic part. And he, to punish for her scorn +of him this woman whom he loved to hating-point, was resolved that she +herself must beg it of him. Whether, having so far compelled her, he +would grant her prayer or not was something he could not just then +himself have told you. She bowed her head in silence, and Wilding, that +faint smile, half friendliness, half mockery, hovering ever on his +lips, turned aside and moved softly towards the window. Her eyes, veiled +behind the long lashes of their drooping lids, followed him furtively. +She felt that she hated him in very truth. She marked the upright +elegance of his figure, the easy grace of his movements, the fine +aristocratic mould of the aquiline face, which she beheld in profile; +and she hated him the more for these outward favours that must commend +him to no lack of women. He was too masterful. He made her realize too +keenly her own weakness and that of Richard. She felt that just now he +controlled the vice that held her fast--her affection for her brother. +And because of that she hated him the more. “You see, Mistress +Westmacott,” said he, his shoulder to her, his tone sweet to the point +of sadness, “that there is nothing else.” She stood, her eyes following +the pattern of the parquetry, her foot unconsciously tracing it; her +courage ebbed, and she had no answer for him. After a pause he spoke +again, still without turning. “If that was not enough to suit your +ends”--and though he spoke in a tone of ever-increasing sadness, there +glinted through it the faintest ray of mockery--“I marvel you should +have 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 as +on the brink of tears. + +“'Tis unfortunate you should have separated,” he condoled. + +“But... but, Mr. Wilding, I... I trusted to your honour. I accounted you +a 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 the +servants' hall. By to-morrow 'twill be the gossip of Bridgwater.” + +Air failed her. Her blue eyes fixed him in horror out of her stricken +face. Not a word had she wherewith to answer him. + +The sight of her, thus, affected him oddly. His passion for her surged +up, aroused by pity for her plight, and awakened in him a sense of his +brutality. A faint flush stirred in his cheeks. He stepped quickly to +her, and caught her hand. She let it lie, cold and inert, within his +nervous grasp. + +“Ruth, Ruth!” he cried, and his voice was for once unsteady. “Give it no +thought! I love you, Ruth. If you'll but heed that, no breath of scandal +can 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 no +further, for she snatched away her hand, her cheeks crimsoning, her eyes +aflame with indignation. He stepped back, crimsoning too. She had dashed +the 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 caught +her in his arms, and held her tight, and so sudden was the act, so firm +his 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 ever +preferable to the wise--for life is uncertain and short at best. I bring +you worship, and you answer me with scorn. But I shall prevail, and you +shall 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 cast +about her would allow. “Air! Air!” she panted feebly. + +“Oh, you shall have air enough anon,” he answered with a half-strangled +laugh, his passion mounting ever. “Hark you, now--hark you, for +Richard's sake, since you'll not listen for my own nor yours. There is +another 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 you +overlooked the thing on which you should have counted. You overlooked my +love. 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 is +I who will tender the apology, I who will admit that I was wrong to +introduce your name into that company last night, and that what Richard +did was a just and well-deserved punishment upon me. This will I do if +you'll but count upon my love.” + +She looked up at him fearfully, yet with flutterings of hope. “What is't +you 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, very +white and even trembling, the fire all gone from his eye, which was now +turned dull and deadly. + +“So be it,” he said, and strode to the bell-rope. “I'll not offend +again. I had not offended now”--he continued, in the voice of one +offering an explanation cold and formal--“but that when first I came +into your life you seemed to bid me welcome.” His fingers closed upon +the 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 asked +him. + +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. He +stood impassible--hatefully impassible. “....... if I were to consent +to... this... how... how soon...?” He understood the unfinished +question. 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 no +cause to fear either for his life or his honour at my hands.” + +She seemed now to be recovering her calm. “Very well,” she said, her +voice singularly steady. “Let that be a bargain between us. Spare +Richard's life and honour--both, remember!--and on Sunday next...” For +all 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 in +his purpose. At that moment it was in his mind to capitulate +unconditionally; to tell her that Richard should have naught to fear +from him, and yet that she should go free as the winds. Her gesture +checked him. It was so eloquent of aversion. He paused in his advance, +stifled his better feelings, and turned once more, relentless. The door +opened and old Walters stood awaiting his commands. + +“Mistress Westmacott is leaving,” he informed his servant, and bowed +low and formally in farewell before her. She passed out without another +word, the old butler following, and presently through the door that +remained open came Trenchard, in quest of Mr. Wilding who stood bemused. + +Nick sauntered in, his left eye almost hidden by the rakish cock of his +hat, 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 was +pulling thoughtfully. The pipe and he were all but inseparable; indeed, +the year before in London he had given appalling scandal by appearing +with 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, very +blue and very bright, in which there usually abode a roguish gleam. + +“My sight, Anthony,” said he, “reminds me that I am growing old. I +wonder did it mislead me on the score of your visitor?” + +“The lady who left,” said Wilding with a touch of severity, “will be +Mistress Wilding by this day se'night.” + +Trenchard took the pipe from his lips, audibly blew out a cloud of smoke +and stared at his friend. “Body o' me!” quoth he. “Is this a time for +marrying?--with these rumours of Monmouth's coming over.” + +Wilding made an impatient gesture. “I thought to have convinced you they +are 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 leg +swinging in the air. “And what of this matter of the intercepted letter +from London to our Taunton friends?” + +“I can't tell you. But of this I am sure, His Grace is incapable of +anything so rash. Certain is it that he'll not stir until Battiscomb +returns to Holland, and Battiscomb is still in Cheshire sounding the +Duke'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 sooner +done with.” + + + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE ENCOUNTER + +Ruth Wesmacott rode back like one in a dream, with vague and hazy +notions of what she saw or did. So overwrought was she by the interview +from which she came, her mind so obsessed by it, that never a thought +had she for Diana and her indisposition until she arrived home to +find her cousin there before her. Diana was in tears, called up by the +reproaches of her mother, Lady Horton--the relict of that fine soldier +Sir Cholmondeley Horton, of Taunton. + +The girl had arrived at Lupton House a half-hour ahead of Miss +Westmacott, and upon her arrival she had expressed surprise, either +feigned or real, at finding Ruth still absent. Detecting the alarm +that Diana was careful to throw into her voice and manner, her mother +questioned her, and elicited the story of her faintness and of Ruth's +having ridden on alone to Mr. Wilding's. So outraged was Lady Horton +that 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 that +threatened to remove Diana at once from the pernicious atmosphere of +Lupton House and carry her home to Taunton. Ruth found her still at her +remonstrances, arrived, indeed, in time for her share of them. + +“I have been sore mistaken in you, Ruth!” the dame reproached her. “I +can 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 go +alone to Mr. Wilding's house--to Mr. Wilding's, of all men!” + +“It was no time for ordinary measures,” said Ruth, but she spoke without +any of the heat of one who defends her conduct. She was, the slyly +watchful Diana observed, very white and tired. “It was no time to think +of nice conduct. There was Richard to be saved.” + +“And was it worth ruining yourself to do that?” quoth Lady Horton, her +colour high. + +“Ruining myself?” echoed Ruth, and she smiled never so weary a smile. “I +have, 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 you +his 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,” Ruth +answered bitterly, and left them gaping. “We are to be married this day +se'night.” + +A dead silence followed the calm announcement. Then Diana rose. At the +misery, the anguish that could impress so strange and white a look +on Ruth's winsome face, she was smitten with remorse, her incipient +satisfaction dashed. This was her work; the fruit of her scheming. But +it had gone further than she had foreseen; and for all that no result +could better harmonize with her own ambitions and desires, for the +moment--under the first shock of that announcement--she felt guilty and +grew afraid. + +“Ruth!” she cried, her voice a whisper of stupefaction. “Oh, I wish I +had come with you!” + +“But you couldn't; you were faint.” And then--recalling what had +passed--her mind was filled with sudden concern for Diana, even amid her +own sore troubles. “Are you quite yourself again, Diana?” she inquired. + +Diana answered almost fiercely, “I am quite well.” And then, with a +change to wistfulness, she added, “Oh, I would I had come with you!” + +“Matters had been no different,” Ruth assured her. “It was a bargain +Mr. Wilding drove. It was the price I had to pay for Richard's life and +honour.” 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 with +Mr. 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 Lord +Gervase. His lordship would not intervene; he swore he hoped the cub +would be flayed alive by Wilding. Those were his lordship's words, as +Sir 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 Miss +Westmacott with her bitter smile, and sank as one exhausted to a chair. +Lady Horton moved to comfort her, her motherliness all aroused for this +motherless girl, usually so wise and strong, and seemingly wiser and +stronger than ever in this thing that Lady Horton had deemed a weakness +and a folly. + +Meanwhile, Richard and his two friends were on their way to the moors +across the river to the encounter with Mr. Wilding. But before they +had got him to ride forth, Vallancey had had occasion to regret that he +stood committed to a share in this quarrel, for he came to know Richard +as he really was. He had found him in an abject state, white and +trembling, his coward's fancy anticipating a hundred times a minute the +death he was anon to die. + +Vallancey had hailed him cheerily. + +“The day is yours, Dick,” he had cried, when Richard entered the library +where he awaited him. “Wild Wilding has ridden to Taunton this morning +and is to be back by noon. Odsbud, Dick!--twenty miles and more in the +saddle 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 steadily +upon him, attempted a smile and achieved a horrible grimace. + +“What ails you, man?” cried his second, and caught him by the wrist. He +felt the quiver of the other's limb. “Stab me!” quoth he, “you are in no +case to fight. What the plague ails you?” + +“I am none so well this morning,” answered Richard feebly. “Lord +Gervase's claret,” he added, passing a hand across his brow. + +“Lord Gervase's claret?” echoed Vallancey in horror, as at some +outrageous blasphemy. “Frontignac at ten shillings the bottle!” he +exclaimed. + +“Still, claret never does lie easy on my stomach,” Richard explained, +intent upon blaming Lord Gervase s wine--since he could think of nothing +else--for his condition. + +Vallancey looked at him shrewdly. “My cock,” said he, “if you're to +fight we'll have to mend your temper.” He took it upon himself to ring +the bell, and to order up two bottles of Canary and one of brandy. If he +was to get his man to the ground at all--and young Vallancey had a due +sense of his responsibilities in that connection--it would be well to +supply Richard with something to replace the courage that had oozed +out overnight. Young Richard, never loath to fortify himself, proved +amenable enough to the stiffly laced Canary that his friend set before +him. Then, to divert his mind, Vallancey, with that rash freedom that +had made the whole of Somerset know him for a rebel, set himself to talk +of the Protestant Duke and his right to the crown of England. + +He was still at his talk, Richard listening moodily what time he was +slowly but surely befuddling himself, when Sir Rowland--returning from +Scoresby Hall--came to bring the news of his lack of success. Richard +hailed him noisily, and bade him ring for another glass, adding, with +a burst of oaths, some appalling threats of how anon he should serve +Anthony Wilding. His wits drowned in the stiff liquor Vallancey had +pressed upon him, he seemed of a sudden to have grown as fierce and +bloodthirsty 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 for +the eight guineas I won from you at Primero yesterday before you start.” + +Richard reared himself, by the help of the table, and stood a thought +unsteadily, his glance laboriously striving to engage Blake's. + +“Damn me!” quoth he. “Your want of faith dishgraces me--and 't 'shgraces +you. Shalt ha' the guineas when we're back--and not before.” + +“Hum!” quoth Blake, to whom eight guineas were a consideration in these +bankrupt days. “And if you don't come back at all upon whom am I to +draw?” + +The suggestion sank through Dick's half-fuddled senses, and the scare it +gave him was reflected on his face. + +“Damn you, Blake!” swore Vallancey between his teeth. “Is that a decent +way to talk to a man who is going out? Never heed him, Dick! Let him +wait 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 on +a thought that suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Vallancey with a +ludicrous solemnity. “'Sbud!” he swore. “'S a scurvy trick I'm playing +the Duke. 'S treason to him--treason no less.” And he smote the table +with his open hand. + +“What's that?” quoth Blake so sharply, his eyes so suddenly alert that +Vallancey made haste to cover up his fellow rebel's indiscretion. + +“It's the brandy-and-Canary makes him dream,” said he with a laugh, and +rising as he spoke he announced that it was high time they should set +out. Thus he brought about a bustle that drove the Duke's business from +Richard's mind, and left Blake without a pretext to pursue his quest +for information. But the mischief was done, and Blake's suspicions were +awake. He bethought him now of dark hints that Richard had let fall +to Vallancey in the past few days, and of hints less dark with which +Vallancey--who was a careless fellow at ordinary times--had answered. +And now this mention of the Duke and of treason to him--to what Duke +could it refer but Monmouth? + +Blake was well aware of the wild tales that were going round, and he +began to wonder now was aught really afoot, and was his good friend +Westmacott 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 haste +with which Vallancey had proffered a frivolous explanation of Richard's +words, the bustle with which upon the instant he swept Richard and Sir +Rowland from the house to get to horse and ride out to Bridgwater were +in themselves circumstances that went to heighten those suspicions of +Sir Rowland's. But lacking all opportunity for investigation at the +moment, he deemed it wisest to say no more just then lest he should +betray his watchfulness. + +They were the first to arrive upon the ground--an open space on the +borders of Sedgemoor, in the shelter of Polden Hill. But they had not +long to wait before Wilding and Trenchard rode up, attended by a groom. +Their arrival had an oddly sobering effect upon young Westmacott, for +which Mr. Vallancey was thankful. For during their ride he had begun to +fear that he had carried too far the business of equipping his principal +with artificial valour. + +Trenchard came forward to offer Vallancey the courteous suggestion that +Mr. Wilding's servant should charge himself with the care of the horses +of Mr. Westmacott's party, if this would be a convenience to +them. Vallancey thanked him and accepted the offer, and thus the +groom--instructed by Trenchard--led the five horses some distance from +the spot. + +It now became a matter of making preparation, and leaving Richard to +divest himself of such garments as he might deem cumbrous, Vallancey +went forward to consult with Trenchard upon the choice of ground. At +that same moment Mr. Wilding lounged forward, flicking the grass with +his 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 is +something I wish to say, Nick,” answered Mr. Wilding, his manner mild. +“By your leave, then.” And he turned again to Valiancey. “Will you be so +good 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 wish +to engage with Mr. Westmacott. + +“Anthony!” cried Trenchard, and in his amazement forgot to swear. + +“I propose,” added Mr. Wilding, “to relieve Mr. Westmacott of the +necessity of fighting.” + +Vallancey in his heart thought this might be pleasant news for his +principal. 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,” Wilding +insisted, 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 you +will let live a man who has struck you?” + +Wilding took his friend affectionately by the arm. “It is a whim of +mine,” said he. “Do you think, Nick, that it is more than I can afford +to indulge?” + +“I say not so,” was the ready answer; “but...” + +“I thought you'd not,” said Mr. Wilding, interrupting. “And if any +does--why, I shall be glad to prove it upon him that he lies.” He +laughed, and Trenchard, vexed though he was, was forced to laugh with +him. Then Nick set himself to urge the thing that last night had plagued +his mind: that this Richard might prove a danger to the Cause; that +in the Duke's interest, if not to safeguard his own person from some +vindictive betrayal, Wilding would be better advised in imposing a +reliable silence upon him. + +“But why vindictive?” Mr. Wilding remonstrated. “Rather must he have +cause for gratitude.” + +Mr. Trenchard laughed short and contemptuously. “There is,” said he, “no +rancour more bitter than that of the mean man who has offended you and +whom you have spared. I beg you'll ponder it.” He lowered his voice as +he 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 a +measure as he had grown more and more sober with the approach of the +moment for engaging, came forward now with a firm step and an arrogant +mien; 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 night +he 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 affront +from him out of consideration for his sister, should have ended by +calling him to account. He concluded now that upon reflection Wilding +had seen his error, and was prepared to make amends that he might +extricate himself from an impossible situation, and Richard blamed +himself for having overlooked this inevitable solution and given way to +idle panic. + +Vallancey and Blake watching him, and the sudden metamorphosis that was +wrought in him, despised him heartily, and yet were glad--for the sake +of their association with him--that things were as they were. + +“Mr. Westmacott,” said Wilding quietly, his eyes steadily set upon +Richard's own arrogant gaze, his lips smiling a little, “I am here not +to fight, but to apologize.” + +Richard's sneer was audible to all. Oh, he was gathering courage fast +now that there no longer was the need for it. It urged him to lengths of +daring possible only to a fool. + +“If you can take a blow, Mr. Wilding,” said he offensively, “that is +your own affair.” + +And his friends gasped at his temerity and trembled for him, not knowing +what 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 with +some circumstance of oaths. “The fact is,” continued Mr. Wilding, “that +what I did last night, I did in the heat of wine, and I am sorry for +it. I recognize that this quarrel is of my provoking; that it was +unwarrantable in me to introduce the name of Mistress Westmacott, no +matter how respectfully; and that in doing so I gave Mr. Westmacott +ample grounds for offence. For that I beg his pardon, and I venture to +hope that this matter need go no further.” + +Vallancey and Blake were speechless in astonishment; Trenchard +livid with fury. Westmacott moved a step or two forward, a swagger +unmistakable 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 of +regret at this that Trenchard bounded forward, stung to speech. + +“But if Mr. Westmacott's disappointment threatens to overwhelm him,” he +snapped, very tartly, “I am his humble servant, and he may call upon me +to 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 of +dignity. + +“It's a want that may be soon supplied,” answered Trenchard briskly, +and, as he afterwards confessed, had not Wilding checked him at that +moment, he had thrown his hat in Richard's face. + +It was Vallancey who saved the situation, cursing in his heart the +bearing of his principal. + +“Mr. Wilding,” said he, “this is very handsome in you. You are of the +happy few who may tender such an apology without reflection upon your +courage.” + +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 with +an increased respect for you--if that were possible--that I acknowledge +it on my friend's behalf.” + +“You are, sir, a very mirror of the elegancies,” said Mr. Wilding, and +Vallancey wondered was he being laughed at. Whether he was or not, he +conceived that he had done the only seemly thing. He had made handsome +acknowledgment of a handsome apology, stung to it by the currishness of +Richard. + +And there the matter ended, despite Trenchard's burning eagerness to +carry it himself to a different consummation. Wilding prevailed upon +him, and withdrew him from the field. But as they rode back to Zoyland +Chase the old rake was bitter in his inveighings against Wilding's folly +and weakness. + +“I pray Heaven,” he kept repeating, “that it may not come to cost you +dear.” + +“Have done,” said Mr. Wilding, a trifle out of patience. “Could I wed +the sister having slain the brother?” + +And Trenchard, understanding at last, accounted himself a numskull that +he had not understood before. But he none the less deemed it a pity +Richard had been spared. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE CHAMPION + +As vainglorious was Richard Westmacott's retreat from the field of +unstricken battle as his advance upon it had been inglorious. He spoke +with confidence now of the narrow escape that Wilding had had at +his hands, of the things he would have done to Wilding had not that +gentleman grown wise in time. Sir Rowland, who had seen little of +Richard's earlier stricken condition, was in a measure imposed upon by +his blustering tone and manner; not so Vallancey, who remembered the +steps he had been forced to take to bolster up the young man's courage +sufficiently to admit of his being brought to the encounter. Richard so +disgusted him that he felt if he did not quit his company soon, he would +be quarrelling with him himself. So, congratulating him, in a caustic +manner that Richard did not relish, upon the happy termination of the +affair, Vallancey took his leave of him and Blake at the cross-roads, +pleading business with Lord Gervase, and left them to proceed without +him to Bridgwater. + +Blake, whose suspicions of some secret matter to which Vallancey +and Richard were wedded, had been earlier excited by Westmacott's +indiscretions, was full of sly questions now touching the business which +might be taking Vallancey to Scoresby. But Richard was too full of +the subject of the fear he had instilled into Wilding to afford his +companion much satisfaction on any other score. Thus they came to Lupton +House, and as Richard swaggered down the lawn into the presence of the +ladies--Ruth and her aunt were occupying the stone bench, Diana the +circular seat about the great oak in the centre of the lawn--he was a +very different person from the pale, limp creature they had beheld there +some 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 he +sneeringly told how Mr. Wilding had chosen that better part of valour +which discretion is alleged to be. + +It needed Diana, who, blinded by no sisterly affection, saw him exactly +as he was, and despised him accordingly, to enlighten him. It may also +be that in doing so at once she had ends of her own to serve; for Sir +Rowland was still of the company. + +“Mr. Wilding afraid?” she cried, her voice so charged with derision that +it inclined to shrillness. “La! Richard, Mr. Wilding was never afraid of +any man.” + +“Faith!” said Rowland, although his acquaintance with Mr. Wilding was +slight and recent. “It is what I should think. He does not look like a +man familiar with fear.” + +Richard struck something of an attitude, his fair face flushed, his pale +eyes glittering. “He took a blow,” said he, and sneered. + +“There may have been reasons,” Diana suggested darkly, and Sir Rowland's +eyes narrowed at the hint. + +Again he recalled the words Richard had let fall that afternoon. Wilding +and he were fellow workers in some secret business, and Richard had said +that the encounter was treason to that same business, whatever it might +be. And of what it might be Sir Rowland had grounds upon which to found +at least a guess. Had perhaps Wilding acted upon some similar feelings +in avoiding the duel? He wondered; and when Richard dismissed Diana's +challenge with a fatuous laugh, it was Blake who took it up. + +“You speak, ma'am,” said he, “as if you knew that there were reasons, +and knew, too, what those reasons might be.” + +Diana looked at Ruth, as if for guidance before replying. But Ruth sat +calm and seemingly impassive, looking straight before her. She was, +indeed, indifferent how much Diana said, for in any case the matter +could 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 straying +again to Ruth; and a subtler man than Blake would have read that glance +and understood that this same reason which he sought so diligently sat +there before him. + +Richard, indeed, catching that sly look of his cousin's, checked his +assurance, and stood frowning, cogitating. Then, quite suddenly, his +voice 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 suggestion +that 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 as +suddenly stood still. Richard looked at his sister as she were mad and +raving. 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 so fair. +“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 your +life and honour,” she told him calmly, and added, “It was a bargain that +we drove.” Richard continued to stare at her. The thing she told him +was too big to be swallowed at a mouthful; he was absorbing it by slow +degrees. + +“So now,” said Diana, “you know the sacrifice your sister has made to +save 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 very +humble, his make-believe spirit all snuffed out. He observed at last +how pale and set was his sister's face, and he realized something of +the sacrifice she had made. Never in all his life was Richard so near +to lapsing from the love of himself; never so near to forgetting his +own interests, and preferring those of Ruth. Lady Horton sat silent, her +heart fluttering with dismay and perplexity. Heaven had not equipped her +with a spirit capable of dealing with a situation such as this. Blake +stood in make believe stolidity dissembling his infinite chagrin and +the stormy emotions warring within him, for some signs of which Diana +watched his countenance in vain. + +“You shall not do it!” cried Richard suddenly. He came forward and laid +his 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 not +play 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 a +moment--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. It +warmed her heart to hear him speak thus, to have this assurance that he +was anything but the coward she had been so disloyal as to deem him; no +doubt she had been right in saying that it was his health was the cause +of the palsy he had displayed that morning; he was a little wild, she +knew; inclined to sit over-late at the bottle; with advancing manhood, +she had no doubt, he would overcome this boyish failing. Meanwhile +it was this foolish habit--nothing more--that undermined the inherent +firmness of his nature. And it comforted her generous soul to have this +proof 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 offer +was impulsive, and that he would regret it when his ardour had had time +to cool. + +“It were idle,” said Ruth at last--not that she quite believed it, but +that 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 grant +me leave to champion your cause and remove this troublesome Mr. Wilding +from 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 fresh +and 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 keen +sensibilities; yet even so, he could not mistake the request to +withdraw 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 with +Wilding. Thus must he--through her gratitude--assuredly come to have his +way with Ruth. + +Diana rose and turned to her mother. “Come,” she said, “we'll speed Sir +Rowland. Ruth and Richard would perhaps prefer to remain alone.” + +Ruth thanked her with her eyes. Richard, standing beside his sister with +bent head and moody gaze, did not appear to have heard. Thus he remained +until he and his half-sister were alone together, then he flung himself +wearily into the seat beside her, and took her hand. + +“Ruth,” he faltered, “Ruth!” + +She stroked his hand, her honest, intelligent eyes bent upon him in +a look of pity--and to indulge this pity for him, she forgot how much +herself 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,” she +added, her only intent to comfort Richard; “that he loves me; and if he +loves me, surely he will prove kind.” + +He flung himself back with an exclamation of angry pain. He was white to +the lips, his eyes bloodshot. “It must not be--it shall not be--I'll not +endure it!” he cried hoarsely. + +“Richard, dear...” she began, recapturing the hand he had snatched from +hers in his gust of emotion. + +He rose abruptly, interrupting her. “I'll go to Wilding now,” he cried, +his voice resolute. “He shall cancel this bargain he had no right to +make. He shall take up his quarrel with me where it stood before you +went 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 least +you shall not be sacrificed.” + +“Sit here, Richard,” she bade him. “There is something you have not +considered. If you die, if Mr. Wilding kills you...” she paused. + +He looked at her, and at the repetition of the fate that would probably +await him if he persevered in the course he threatened, his purely +emotional courage again began to fail him. A look of fear crept +gradually into his face to take the room of the resolution that had been +stamped upon it but a moment since. + +He swallowed hard. “What then?” he asked, his voice harsh, and, obeying +her command and the pressure on his hand, he resumed his seat beside +her. + +She spoke now at length and very gravely, dwelling upon the circumstance +that he was the head of the family, the last Westmacott of his line, +pointing out to him the importance of his existence, the insignificance +of her own. She was but a girl, a thing of small account where the +perpetuation of a family was at issue. After all, she must marry +somebody some day, she repeated, and perhaps she had been foolish in +attaching too much importance to the tales she had heard of Mr. +Wilding. Probably he was no worse than other men, and after all he was +a gentleman of wealth and position, such a man as half the women in +Somerset might be proud to own for husband. + +Her arguments and his weakness--his returning cowardice, which made him +lend an ear to those same arguments--prevailed with him; at least they +convinced him that he was far too important a person to risk his life in +this quarrel upon which he had so rashly entered. He did not say that +he was convinced; but he said that he would give the matter thought, +hinting that perhaps some other way might present itself of cancelling +the bargain she had made. They had a week before them, and in any case +he promised readily in answer to her entreaties--for her faith in +him was a thing unquenchable--that he would do nothing without taking +counsel with her. + +Meanwhile Diana had escorted Sir Rowland to the main gates of Lupton +House, 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 this +matter too deeply to heart. You overlook the possibility that my cousin +may have good reason for not desiring your interference.” + +He looked keenly at this little lady to whom a month ago he had been +on the point of offering marriage. His coxcombry might readily have +suggested to him that she was in love with him, but that his conscience +and 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 was +clear 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 enough +for me,” he said. Then his tone softened to one of prayer. “Tell me,” he +besought her. + +“I can't! I can't!” she cried in feigned distress. “It were too +disloyal.” + +He frowned. He caught her arm and pressed it, his heart sick with +jealous 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 am +loath 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, “closeted +alone with him for an hour or more.” + +“Impossible!” he cried. + +“Where else was the bargain made?” she asked, and shattered his last +doubt. “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 looked +up at him, and under her glance Sir Rowland felt that he was a man of +unfathomable ignorance. Then she turned aside her eyes and shrugged her +shoulders very eloquently. “You are a man of the world, Sir Rowland. You +cannot seriously suppose that any maid would so imperil her good name in +any cause?” + +Darker grew his florid countenance; his bulging eyes looked troubled and +perplexed. + +“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 braces +himself 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 his +perceptions. “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 would +not have you meddle in a matter you cannot mend.” + +“Which I am not desired to mend, say rather,” he replied with heavy +sarcasm. “She would not have my interference!” He laughed angrily. “I +think you are right, Mistress Diana,” he said, “and I think that more +than ever is there the need to kill this Mr. Wilding.” + +He took his departure abruptly, leaving her scared at the mischief she +had made for him in seeking to save him from it, and that very night he +sought out Wilding. + +But Wilding was from home again. Under its placid surface the West +Country was in a ferment. And if hitherto Mr. Wilding had disdained the +insistent rumours of Monmouth's coming, his assurance was shaken now by +proof that the Government, itself, was stirring; for four companies of +foot and a troop of horse had been that day ordered to Taunton by the +Deputy-Lieutenant. Wilding was gone with Trenchard to White Lackington +in a vain hope that there he might find news to confirm his persisting +unbelief 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 Nick +Trenchard, and he cut short the greetings of both men. He flung his +hat--a black castor trimmed with a black feather--rudely among the +dishes on the board. + +“I have come to ask you, Mr. Wilding,” said he, “to be so good as to +tell me the colour of that hat.” + +Mr. Wilding raised one eyebrow and looked aslant at Trenchard, whose +weather-beaten face was suddenly agrin with stupefaction. + +“I could not,” said Mr. Wilding, “deny an answer to a question set so +courteously.” He looked up into Blake's flushed and scowling face with +the sweetest and most innocent of smiles. “You'll no doubt disagree with +me,” said he, “but I love to meet a man halfway. Your hat, sir, is as +white as virgin snow.” + +Blake's slow wits were disconcerted for a moment. Then he smiled +viciously. “You mistake, Mr. Wilding,” said he. “My hat is black.” + +Mr. Wilding looked more attentively at the object in dispute. He was in +a trifling mood, and the stupidity of this runagate debtor afforded him +opportunities to indulge it. “Why, true,” said he, “now that I come to +look, I perceive that it is indeed black.” + +And again was Sir Rowland disconcerted. Still he pursued the lesson he +had taught himself. + +“You are mistaken again,” said he, “that hat is green.” + +“Indeed?” quoth Mr. Wilding, like one surprised and he turned to +Trenchard, who was enjoying himself. “What is your own opinion of it, +Nick?” + +Thus appealed to, Trenchard's reply was prompt. “Why, since you ask +me,” said he, “my opinion is that it's a noisome thing not meet for a +gentleman's table.” And he took it up, and threw it through the window. + +Sir Rowland was entirely put out of countenance. Here was a deliberate +shifting 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 before +you'll understand me?” + +“If you were to do anything so unmannerly I should have you flung out +of the house,” said Mr. Wilding, “and it would distress me so to treat +a person of your station and quality. The hat shall serve your purpose, +although Mr. Trenchard's concern for my table has removed it. Our +memories 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 best +judge 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 mighty +ridiculous. + +“Why, in that case you would be confirming my first impression of it,” + answered Wilding, and Trenchard let fly a burst of laughter at sight +of the baronet's furious and bewildered countenance. “And since we are +agreed on that,” continued Mr. Wilding, imperturbable, “I hope you'll +join 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 it +out at last. + +Mr. Wilding sat back in his chair, and looked at him, his face +inexpressibly 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 of +me?” + +“Not so. Mr. Trenchard shall wait upon your friends to-morrow, and I +hope 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 beginning +of his humiliation at Mr. Wilding's hands--for what can be more +humiliating to a quarrel--seeking man than to have his enemy refuse to +treat him seriously? He and Mr. Wilding met next morning, and before +noon the tale of it had run through Bridgwater that Wild Wilding was at +his tricks again. It made a pretty story how twice he had disarmed and +each time spared the London beau, who still insisted--each time more +furiously--upon renewing the encounter, till Mr. Wilding had been forced +to run him through the sword-arm and thus put him out of all case of +continuing. It was a story that heaped ridicule upon Sir Rowland and did +credit to Mr. Wilding. + +Richard heard it, and trembled, enraged and impotent. Ruth heard it, and +was stirred despite herself to a feeling of gratitude towards Wilding +for the patience and toleration he had displayed. + +There for a while the matter rested, and the days passed slowly. But Sir +Rowland's nature--mean at bottom--was spurred to find him some other +way of wiping out the score that lay 'twixt him and Mr. Wilding, a score +mightily increased by the shame that Mr. Wilding had put upon him in +that encounter from which--whatever the issue--he had looked to cull +great credit in Ruth's eyes. + +He had been thinking constantly of the incautious words that Richard +had let fall, thinking of them in conjunction with the startling rumours +that were now the talk of the whole countryside. He laid two and two +together, and the four he found them make afforded him some hope. Then +he realized--as he might have realized before had he been shrewder--that +Richard's mood was one that made him ripe for any villainy. He thought +that he was much in error if a treachery existed so black that Richard +would quail before it, if it but afforded him the means of ridding +himself and the world of Mr. Wilding. He was considering how best to +approach the subject, when it happened that one night when Richard sat +at play with him in his own lodging, the boy grew talkative through +excess of wine. It happened naturally enough that Richard sought an +ally in Blake, just as Blake sought an ally in Richard. Indeed, their +fortunes--so far as Ruth was concerned--were bound up together. The +baronet saw that Richard, half-fuddled, was ripe for any confidences +that might aim at the destruction of his enemy. He questioned him +adroitly, and drew from him the story of the rising that was being +planned, and of the share that Mr. Wilding--one of the Duke of +Monmouth's chief movement-men--bore in the business that was toward. + +When, towards midnight, Richard Westmacott went home, he left in Sir +Rowland's hands an instrument which the latter accounted potential not +only for the destruction of Anthony Wilding, but perhaps also for laying +the 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 with +a portentous weapon for the destruction of Anthony Wilding. Upon closer +inspection of it, however, he came to realize--as Richard had realized +earlier--that it was double-edged, and that the wielding of it must be +fraught with as much danger for Richard as for their common enemy. For +to betray Mr. Wilding and the plot would scarce be possible without +betraying young Westmacott, and that was unthinkable, since to ruin +Richard--a thing he would have done with a light heart so far as Richard +was himself concerned--would be to ruin his own hopes of winning Ruth. + +Therefore, during the days that followed, Sir Rowland was forced to +fret in idleness what time his wound was healing; but if his arm was +invalided, his eyes and ears were sound, and he remained watchful for an +opportunity to apply the knowledge he had gained. Richard mentioned the +subject no more, so that Blake almost came to wonder whether the boy +remembered what in his cups he had betrayed. + +Meanwhile Mr. Wilding moved serene and smiling on his way. Daily there +were great armfuls of flowers deposited at Lupton House--his lover's +offering to his mistress--and no day went by but that some richer gift +accompanied them. Now it was a collar of brilliants, anon a rope of +pearls, 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; yet +it hurt her sorely to retain them. On her side she made no dispositions +for the marriage, but went about her daily tasks as though she were to +remain a maid at Lupton House for a time as yet indefinite. + +In Diana, Wilding had--though he was far from guessing it--an entirely +exceptional ally. Lady Horton, too, was favourably disposed towards him. +A foolish, worldly woman, who never probed beneath life's surface, nor +indeed dreamed that anything existed in life beyond that to which her +five senses testified, she was content placidly to contemplate the +advantages that must accrue to her niece from this alliance. + +And so mother and daughter in Mr. Wilding's absence pleaded his cause +with his refractory bride-elect. But they pleaded it to little real +purpose. Something perhaps they achieved in that Ruth grew more or +less resigned to the fate that awaited her. By repeating to herself the +arguments she had employed to Richard--that she must wed some day, and +that Mr. Wilding would prove no doubt as good a husband as another--she +came in a measure to believe them. + +Richard meanwhile appeared to avoid her. Lacking the courage to adopt +the heroic measures which at first he had promised, yet had he grace +enough to take shame at his inaction. But if he was idle so far as +Mr. Wilding was concerned, there was no lack of work for him in other +connections. The clouds of war were gathering in that summer sky, and +about to loose the storm gestating in them upon that fair country of +the West, and young Westmacott, committed as he stood to the Duke of +Monmouth's party, was forced to take his share in the surreptitious +bustle that was toward. He was away two days in that week, having been +summoned to a meeting of the leading gentlemen of the party at White +Lackington, where he was forced into the unwelcome company of his future +brother-in-law, to meet with courteous, deferential treatment from that +imperturbable gentleman. + +Wilding, indeed, seemed to have forgotten that any quarrel had ever +existed between them. For the rest, he came and went, supremely calm, as +if he were, and knew himself to be, most welcome at Lupton House. Thrice +in the course of that week of waiting he rode over from Zoyland Chase +to pay his duty to Mistress Westmacott, and Ruth was persuaded on each +occasion by her aunt and cousin to receive him. Indeed, how could she +well refuse? + +His manner was ever all that could be desired. Gallant, affectionate, +deferential. He was in word and look and tone Ruth's most obedient +servant. Had she been less prejudiced she must have admired the +admirable 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 deal of his +duty to the Duke, leaving Trenchard to supply his place and undertake +tasks of a seditious nature that should have been his own. + +At heart, however, in spite of the stories current and the militia at +Taunton, Wilding remained convinced--as did most of the other leading +partisans of the Protestant Cause--that no such madness as this +premature landing could be in contemplation by the Duke. Besides, were +it so, they must unfailingly have definite word of it; and they had +none. + +Trenchard was less assured, but Wilding laughed at the old rake's +forebodings, and serenely went about the business of his marriage. + +On the eve of the wedding he paid Ruth his last visit in the quality +of a lover, and was received by her in the garden. He found her looking +paler than her wont, and there was a cloud of sadness on her brow, a +haunting sadness in her eyes. It touched him to the soul, and for a +moment he wavered in his purpose. He stood beside her--she seated on +the old lichened seat--and a silence fell between them, during which +Mr. Wilding's conscience wrestled with his stronger passion. It was his +habit to be glib, talking incessantly what time he was in her company, +and seeing to it that his talk was shallow and touched at nothing +belonging to the deeps of human life. Thus was it, perhaps, that this +sudden and enduring silence affected her most oddly; it was as if she +had absorbed some notion of what was passing in his mind. She looked up +suddenly into his face, so white and so composed. Their eyes met, and he +stooped to her suddenly, his long brown ringlets tumbling forward. She +feared his kiss, yet never moved, staring up with fixed, dilated eyes as +if fascinated by his dark, brooding gaze. He paused, hovering above her +upturned face as hovers the hawk above the dove. + +“Child,” he said at last, and his voice was soft and winning from very +sadness, “child, why do you fear me?” + +The truth of it went home to her. She feared him; she feared the +strength that lay behind that calm; she feared the masterfulness of his +wild but inscrutably hidden nature; she was afraid to surrender to +such a man as this, afraid that in the hot crucible of his love her own +nature 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 fell +away from his; it sought the calm of the river, gleaming golden in the +sunset. There was a pause. Wilding sighed heavily, and straightened +himself 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 had +I but in compulsion?” She returned him no answer. “You see,” he said, +with increasing bitterness, “you see, that had I not seized the chance +that 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 added +with 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, “no +love of man for woman, so that the man be not wholly unworthy, so that +his passion be sincere and strong, that can fail in time to arouse +response.” She smiled a little pitiful smile of unbelief. “Were I a +boy,” he rejoined, his earnestness vibrating now in a voice that was +usually so calm and level, “offering you protestations of a callow +worship, you might have cause to doubt me. But I am a man, Ruth--a +tried, and haply a sinful man, alas!--a man who needs you, and who will +have you at all costs.” + +“At all costs?” she echoed, and her lip took on a curl. “And you call +this egotism by the name of love! No doubt you are right,” she continued +with 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 asked +her, startling her with a question that revealed to her clear-sighted +mind a truth undreamed of. “When some day--please Heaven--I come to find +favour in your eyes, and you come to love me, what will it mean but that +you 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'll +confess that if you do not love me yet, it is for the same reason, and +that 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, shifting +woman-like the ground of argument now that she found insecure the place +on 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 that +what he said might come to pass. + +“Since you bear such faith in your heart,” said she, “were it not +nobler, more generous, that you should set yourself to win me first and +wed me afterwards?” + +“It is the course I should, myself, prefer,” he answered quietly. “But +it is a course denied me. I was viewed here with disfavour, almost +denied your house. What chance had I whilst I might not come near you, +whilst your mind was poisoned against me by the idle, vicious prattle +that goes round and round the countryside, increasing ever in bulk from +constant repetition?” + +“Do you say that these tales are groundless?” she asked, with a sudden +lifting 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 that +would improve me in your sight. But there is just sufficient truth in +them to forbid me, as I am, I hope, a gentleman, from giving them a full +denial. Yet in what am I worse than my fellows? Are you of those who +think a husband should come to them as one whose youth has been the +youth 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, you +receive this fellow Blake--a London night-scourer, a broken gamester +who has given his creditors leg-bail, and who woos you that with your +fortune he may close the doors of the debtor's gaol that's open to +receive him.” + +“This is unworthy in you,” she exclaimed, her tone indignant--so +indignant that he experienced his first pang of jealousy. + +“It would be were I his rival,” he answered quietly. “But I am not. I +have saved you from becoming the prey of such as he by forcing you to +marry 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 pardonable +self-esteem when we think of what manner of man it was with whom he now +compared himself, “Surely,” said he, “it is better to become the prey of +the lion than the jackal.” + +“To the victim it can matter little,” she answered, and he saw the tears +gathering in her eyes. + +Compassion moved him. It rose in arms to batter down his will, and in a +weaker man had triumphed. Mr. Wilding bent his knee and went down beside +her. + +“I swear,” he said impassionedly, “that as my wife you shall never count +yourself a victim. You shall be honoured by all men, but by none more +deeply than by him who will ever strive to be worthy of the proud title +of your husband.” He took her hand and kissed it reverentially. He rose +and looked at her. “To-morrow,” he said, and bowing low before her went +his way, leaving her with emotions that found their vent in tears, but +defied her maiden mind to understand them. + +The morrow came her wedding-day--a sunny day of early June, and +Ruth--assisted by Diana and Lady Horton--made preparation for her +marriage as spirited women have made preparation for the scaffold, +determined to show the world a brave, serene exterior. The sacrifice was +necessary 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 her +side; it would have lent her strength to have had his kiss of thanks +for the holocaust which for him she was making of all that a woman holds +most dear and sacred. But Richard was away--he had been absent since +yesterday, and none could tell her where he tarried. + +With Lady Horton and Diana she took her way to Saint Mary's Church at +noon, and there she found Mr. Wilding--very fine in a suit of sky-blue +satin, laced with silver--awaiting her. And with him was old Lord +Gervase Scoresby, his friend and cousin, the very incarnation of +benignity and ruddy health. + +For a wonder Nick Trenchard was not at Mr. Wilding's side. But Nick +had definitely refused to be of the party, emphasizing his refusal by +certain choice reflections wholly unflattering to the married state. + +Some idlers of the town were the only witnesses--and little did they +guess the extent of the tragedy they were witnessing. There was no +music, and the ceremony was brief and soon at an end. The only touch of +joy, of festiveness, was that afforded by the choice blooms with which +Mr. Wilding had smothered nave and choir and altar-rails. Their perfume +hung heavy as incense in the temple. + +“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” droned the parson's +voice, 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 felt +her hand lying in Mr. Wilding's cool, firm grasp. + +The ecclesiastic's voice droned on, his voice hanging like the hum of +some great Insect upon the scented air. It was accomplished, and they +were 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 and +cousin and Lord Gervase. On Mr. Wilding's aquiline face a pale smile +glimmered, like a beam of moonlight upon tranquil waters, and it abode +there until they reached the porch and were suddenly confronted by Nick +Trenchard, red of face for once, perspiring, excited, and dust-stained +from head to foot. + +He had arrived that very instant; and, urged by the fearful news that +brought him, he had come resolved to pluck Wilding from the altar be the +ceremony done or not. But in that he reckoned without Mr. Wilding--for +he should have known him better than to have hoped to succeed. He +stepped forward now, and gripped him with his dusty glove by the +sleeve of his shimmering bridegroom's coat. His voice came harsh with +excitement and smouldering rage. + +“A word with you, Anthony!” + +Mr. Wilding turned placidly to regard him. “What now?” he asked, his +bride's hand retained in the crook of his elbow. + +“Treachery!” snapped Trenchard in a whisper. “Hell and damnation! Step +aside, man.” + +Mr. Wilding turned to Lord Gervase, and begged of him to take charge of +Mistress Wilding. “I deplore this interruption,” he told her, no whit +ruffled 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 his +eyes 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 waiting +carriage. To this he handed her, and after her her aunt and cousin. +Then, mounting himself, they drove away, leaving Wilding and Trenchard +among the tombstones, whither the messenger of evil had meanwhile led +his friend. Trenchard rapped out his story briefly. + +“Shenke,” said he, “who was riding from Lyme with letters for you from +the Duke, was robbed of his dispatches late last night a mile or so this +side Taunton.” + +“Highwaymen?” inquired Mr. Wilding, his tone calm, though his glance had +hardened. + +“Highwaymen? No! Government agents belike. There were two of them, he +says--for I have the tale from himself--and they met him at the Hare and +Hounds at Taunton, where he stayed to sup last night. One of them gave +him the password, and he conceived him to be a friend. But afterwards, +growing suspicious, he refused to tell them too much. They followed +him, it appears, and on the road they overtook and fell upon him; they +knocked him from his horse, possessed themselves of the contents of his +wallet, and left him for dead--with his head broken.” + +Mr. Wilding drew a sharp breath. His wits worked quickly. He was, he +realized, in deadly peril. One thought he gave to Ruth. If the worst +came to pass here was one who would rejoice in her freedom. The +reflection cut through him like a sword. He would be loath to die +until he had taught her to regret him. Then his mind returned to what +Trenchard had told him. + +“You said a Government agent,” he mused slowly. “How would a Government +agent know the password?” + +Trenchard's mouth fell open. “I had not thought...” he began. Then ended +with an oath. “'Tis a traitor from inside.” + +Wilding nodded. “It must be one of those who met at White Lackington +three nights ago,” he answered. + +Idlers--the witnesses of the wedding--were watching them with interest +from 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 out +of England altogether before the hue and cry is raised. The bubble's +pricked.” + +Wilding's hand fell on his arm, and its grasp was steady. Wilding's eyes +met 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 for +you to Zoyland Chase. Suspecting trouble, I rode to him at once myself.” + +“Come, then,” said Wilding. “We'll go talk with him. This matter needs +probing ere we decide on flight. You do not seem to have sought to +discover who were the thieves, nor other matters that it may be of use +to know.” + +“Rat me!” swore Trenchard. “I was in haste to bring you news of +it. Besides, there were other things to talk of. There is news that +Albemarle has gone to Exeter, and that Sir Edward Phelips and Colonel +Luttrell 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?” Then +he shrugged his shoulders and laughed; “Pshaw!” he cried. “They are +starting at a shadow.” + +“Heaven send,” prayed Trenchard, “that the shadow does not prove to have +a substance immediately behind it.” + +“Folly!” said Wilding. “When Monmouth comes, indeed, we shall not lack +forewarning. Come,” he added briskly. “We'll see this messenger and +endeavour to discover who were these fellows that beset him.” And he +drew Trenchard from among the tombstones to the open path, and thus from +the 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 with +Trenchard to the Bell Inn, in the High Street, whilst his bride, +escorted by Lord Gervase, was being driven to Zoyland Chase, of which +she was now the mistress. + +But she was not destined just yet to cross its threshold. For scarcely +were they over the river when a horseman barred their way, and called +upon the driver to pull up. Lady Horton, in a panic, huddled herself +in the great coach and spoke of tobymen, whilst Lord Gervase thrust +his head from the window to discover that the rider who stayed their +progress 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 drive +to Lupton House?” + +Lord Gervase stared at him in hopeless bewilderment. “Drive to Lupton +House?” he echoed. The more he saw of this odd wedding, the less he +understood of it. It seemed to the placid old gentleman that he was +fallen among a parcel of Bedlamites. “Surely, sir, it is for Mistress +Wilding to say whither she will be driven,” and he drew in his head and +turned to Ruth for her commands. But, bewildered herself, she had none +to give him. It was her turn to lean from the carriage window to ask her +brother what he meant. + +“I mean you are to drive home again,” said he. “There is something +I must tell you. When you have heard me it shall be yours to decide +whether you will proceed or not to Zoyland Chase.” + +Hers to decide? How was that possible? What could he mean? She pressed +him with some such questions. + +“It means, in short,” he answered impatiently, “that I hold your +salvation in my hands. For the rest, this is not the time or place to +tell you more. Bid the fellow put about.” + +Ruth sat back and looked once more at her companions. But from none did +she receive the least helpful suggestion. Lady Horton made great prattle +to little purpose; Lord Gervase followed her example, whilst Diana, +whose alert if trivial mind was the one that might have offered +assistance, sat silent. Ruth pondered. She bethought her of Trenchard's +sudden arrival at Saint Mary's, his dust-stained person and excited +manner, and of how he had drawn Mr. Wilding aside with news that seemed +of moment. And now her brother spoke of saving her; it was a little late +for that, she thought. Outside the coach his voice still urged her, and +it grew peevish and angry, as was usual when he was crossed. In the end +she consented to do his will. If she were to fathom this mystery that +was thickening about her there seemed to be no other course. She turned +to Lord Gervase. + +“Will you do as Richard says?” she begged him. + +His lordship blew out his chubby cheeks in his astonishment; he +hesitated a moment, thinking of his cousin Wilding; then, with a shrug, +he leaned from the window and gave the order she desired. The carriage +turned about, and with Richard following lumbered back across the bridge +and through the town to Lupton House. At the door Lord Gervase took his +leave of them. He had acted as Ruth had bidden him; but he had no wish +to be further involved in this affair, whatever it might portend. Rather +was it his duty at once to go acquaint Mr. Wilding--if he could find +him--with what was taking place, and leave it to Mr. Wilding to take +what measures might seem best to him. He told them so, and having told +them, left them. + +Richard begged to be alone with his sister, and alone they passed +together into the library. His manner was restless; he trembled with +excitement, and his eyes glittered almost feverishly. + +“You may have thought, Ruth, that I was resigned to your marriage with +this fellow Wilding,” he began; “or that for other reasons I thought it +wiser not to interfere. If you thought that you wronged me. I--Blake and +I--have been at work for you during these last days, and I rejoice +to 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, why +did you not come to me sooner if you possessed the means of sparing me +this thing?” + +He shrugged impatiently; her remonstrance seemed to throw him out of +temper. “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 the +very nick of time.” He drew a sheet of paper from an inside pocket of +his coat and slapped it down upon the table. “There is the wherewithal +to 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 full +height of his short stature in pride at the thing he had achieved. “Read +it.” + +She took the paper almost mechanically, and for some moments she studied +the 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 for +the injunction, for already she was deciphering the crabbed hand and +the atrocious spelling--for His Grace of Monmouth's education had been +notoriously neglected. The letter, which was dated from The Hague, was +addressed “To my good friend W., at Bridgwater.” It began, “Sir,” spoke +of the imminent arrival of His Grace in the West, and gave certain +instructions for the collection of arms and the work of preparing men +for enlistment in his Cause, ending with protestations of His Grace's +friendship and esteem. + +Ruth read the epistle twice before its treasonable nature was made clear +to her; before she understood the thing that was foreshadowed. Then +she raised troubled eyes to her brother's face, and in answer to the +question of her glance he made clear to her the shrewd means by which +they had become possessed of this weapon that should destroy their enemy +Mr. Wilding. + +Blake and he, forewarned--he said not how--of the coming of this +messenger, had lain in wait for him at the Hare and Hounds, at Taunton. +They had sought at first to become possessed of the letter without +violence. But, having failed in this through having aroused the +messenger's suspicions, they had been forced to follow and attack him on +a lonely stretch of road, where they had robbed him of the contents of +his wallet. Richard added that the letter was, no doubt, one of several +sent over by Monmouth to some friend at Lyme for distribution among his +principal agents in the West. It was regrettable that they should +have endeavoured to take gentle measures with the courier, as this had +forewarned him, and he had apparently been led to remove the +letter's outer wrapper--which, no doubt, bore Wilding's full name and +address--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 by +Richard's and Blake's evidence of the destination intended for it, would +be more than enough to lay Mr. Wilding safely by the heels. + +“I would to Heaven,” he repeated in conclusion, “I could have come in +time to save you from becoming his wife. But at least it is in my power +to make you very speedily his widow.” + +“That,” said Ruth, still retaining the letter, “is what you propose to +do?” + +“What else?” + +She shook her head. “It must not be, Richard,” she said. “I'll not +consent 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 his +face. “How came you by your knowledge that this courier rode to Mr. +Wilding?” she asked him suddenly, and the swift change that overspread +his countenance showed her that she had touched him in a tender spot, +assured her of the thing she had suddenly come to suspect--a suspicion +which at the same time started from and explained much that had been +mysterious in Richard's ways of late. “You had knowledge of this +conspiracy,” she pursued, answering her own question before he had time +to 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 you to 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 manner dominated him. “You will leave this +letter with me, Richard,” she continued. + +“Damn me! no...” he began. + +“Ah, yes, Richard,” she insisted. “You will give it to me, and I shall +thank you for the gift. It shall prove a weapon for my salvation, never +fear.” + +“It shall, indeed,” he cried, with an ugly laugh; “when I have ridden to +Exeter to lay it before Albemarle.” + +“Not so,” she answered him. “It shall be a weapon of defence--not of +offence. It shall stand as a buckler between me and Mr. Wilding. Trust +me, I shall know how to use it.” + +“But there is Blake to consider,” he expostulated, growing angry. “I am +pledged to him.” + +“Your first duty is to me...” + +“Tut!” he interrupted. “Blake feels that he owes it to his loyalty to +lay this letter before the Lord-Lieutenant, and, for that matter, so do +I.” + +“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 have +told you of it. I had not done so but that I never thought you such a +fool 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 other +hand, however--the one that held the sheet--was already behind her back. + +The door was suddenly thrust open, and Diana appeared. “Ruth,” she +announced, “Mr. Wilding is here.” + +At the mention of that name, Richard let her free. “Wilding!” he +ejaculated, his fierceness all blown out of him. He had imagined that +already Mr. Wilding would be in full flight. Was the fellow mad? + +“He is following me,” said Diana, and, indeed, a step could be heard in +the 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 his +bridegroom's finery of sky-blue satin, loomed in the doorway. He was +serene and calm as ever. Neither the discovery of the plot by the +abstraction of the messenger's letter, nor Ruth's strange conduct--of +which he had heard from Lord Gervase--had sufficed to ruffle, outwardly +at least, the inscrutable serenity of his air and manner. He paused +to make his bow, then advanced into the room, with a passing glance at +Richard still spurred and booted and all dust-stained. + +“You appear to have ridden far, Dick,” said he, smiling, and Richard +shivered in spite of himself at the mocking note that seemed to ring +faintly 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, he +was minded at first to disregard it. But Mr. Wilding, turning, held the +door, addressing Diana. + +“Mistress Horton,” said he, “will you give us leave?” + +Diana curtsied and passed out, and Mr. Wilding's eye falling upon the +lingering Richard at that moment, Richard thought it best to follow her +example. But he went with rage in his heart at being forced to leave +that precious document behind him. + +As Mr. Wilding, his back to her a moment, closed the door, Ruth slipped +the paper hurriedly into the bosom of her low-necked gown. He turned to +her, 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 so +remain.” + +He raised his brows. “Ah,” said he, “I appear, then, to have +misapprehended the situation. From what Gervase told me, I understood it +was your brother forced you to return.” + +“Not forced, sir,” she answered him. + +“Induced, then,” said he. “It but remains me to induce you to repair +what 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 prefer +Zoyland Chase to Lupton House. Despite the manifold attractions of the +latter, 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 to +imply that he humoured her because he scorned to use authority, but that +when he did use it, hers must it be to obey him. Again she felt that +everlasting calm, arguing such latent forces, was the thing she hated +most in him. + +“I think I had best be plain with you,” said she. “I have fulfilled my +part of the bargain that we made. I intend to do no more. I promised +that 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 towards +her, and took her hand. She yielded it, unwilling though she was. “This +is unworthy of you, madam,” said he, his tone grave and deferential. +“You think to escape fulfilling the spirit of your bargain by adhering +to the letter of it. Not so,” he ended, and shook his head, smiling +gently. “The carriage is still at your door. You return with me to +Zoyland Chase to take possession of your home.” + +“You mistake,” said she, and tore her hand from his. “You say that what +I have done is unworthy. I admit it; but it is with unworthiness that we +must 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. “This +much can I safely promise you.” + +She had need to say no more to tell him everything. At all times half a +word was as much to Mr. Wilding as a whole sentence to another. She saw +the tightening of his lips, the hardening of his eyes, beyond which he +gave no other sign that she had hit him. + +“I see,” said he. “It is another bargain that you make. I do suspect +there 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 insist +upon my husband's rights. Is it not so?” + +She nodded in silence, surprised at the rapidity with which he had read +the situation. + +“I admit,” said he, “that you have me between sword and wall.” He +laughed shortly. “Let me know more,” he begged her. “Am I to understand +that so long as I leave you in peace--so long as I do not insist upon +your becoming my wife in more than name--you will not wield the weapon +that you hold?” + +“You are to understand so,” she answered. + +He took a turn in the room, very thoughtful. Not of himself was he +thinking now, but of the Duke of Monmouth. Trenchard had told him some +ugly truths that morning of how in his love-making he appeared to have +shipwrecked the Cause ere it was well launched. If this letter got +to Whitehall there was no gauging--ignorant as he was of what was in +it--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 of +thanks 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 defeat +in 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 lest +he should use force to become possessed of it--a thing, indeed, that was +very far from his purpose. + +He considered a moment, his mind intent now rather upon the Duke's +interest than his own. + +“You know,” quoth he, “the desperate enterprise to which I stand +committed. But it is a bargain between us that you do not betray me nor +that 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 glance +almost 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 he +stood, which seemed to invest him with a certain heroic dignity. + +“Ruth,” he said at length, “it may well be that that which you desire +may speedily come to pass; it may well be that in the course of this +rebellion that is hatching you may be widowed. But at least I know that +if 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 and +left her. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. MR. TRENCHARD'S COUNTERSTROKE + +Now, however much it might satisfy Mr. Wilding to have Ruth's word for +it that so long as he left her in peace neither he nor the Cause had any +betrayal 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 reached +Whitehall.” + +“I realize it; but my mind is easy. I have her promise.” + +“A woman's promise!” snorted Trenchard, and proceeded with great +circumstance of expletives to damn “everything that daggled a +petticoat.” + +“Your fears are idle,” Wilding assured him. “What she says, she will +do.” + +“And her brother?” quoth Trenchard. “Have you bethought you of that +canary-bird? He'll know the letter's whereabouts. He has cause to fear +you more than ever now. Are you sure he'll not be making use of it to +lay you by the heels?” + +Mr. Wilding smiled upon the fury provoked by Trenchard's concern and +love for him. “She has promised,” he said with an insistent faith that +was 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, “is +that we are kept in ignorance of the letter's contents at a time when we +most long for news. Not a doubt but it would have enabled us to set our +minds at ease on the score of these foolish rumours.” + +“Aye--or else confirmed them,” said pessimistic Trenchard. He wagged his +head. “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 from +Shenke that no name was mentioned in the letter itself.” + +“There's evidence enough without it,” Trenchard reminded him, and fell +soon after into abstraction, turning over in his mind a notion with +which he had suddenly been inspired. That notion kept Trenchard secretly +occupied for a couple of days; but in the end he succeeded in perfecting +it. + +Now it befell that towards dusk one evening early in the week Richard +Westmacott went abroad alone, as was commonly his habit, his goal being +the Saracen's Head, where he and Sir Rowland spent many a night over +wine and cards--to Sir Rowland's moderate profit, for he had not played +the pigeon in town so long without having acquired sufficient knowledge +to enable him to play the rook in the country. As Westmacott was passing +up the High Street, a black shadow fell athwart the light that streamed +from the door of the Bell Inn, and out through the doorway lurched Mr. +Trenchard a thought unsteadily to hurtle so violently against Richard +that he broke the long stem of the white clay pipe he was carrying. Now +Richard was not to know that Mr. Trenchard--having informed himself of +Mr. Westmacott's evening habits--had been waiting for the past half-hour +in that doorway hoping that Mr. Westmacott would not depart this evening +from his usual custom. Another thing that Mr. Westmacott was not to +know--considering his youth--was the singular histrionic ability which +this old rake had displayed in those younger days of his when he had +been a player, and the further circumstance that he had excelled in +those parts in which ebriety was to be counterfeited. Indeed, we have it +on the word of no less an authority on theatrical matters than Mr. Pepys +that Mr. Nicholas Trenchard's appearance as Pistol in “Henry IV” in the +year of the blessed Restoration was the talk alike of town and court. + +Mr. Trenchard steadied himself from the impact, and, swearing a round +and awful Elizabethan oath, accused the other of being drunk, then +struck an attitude to demand with truculence, “Would ye take the wall o' +me, sir?” + +Richard hastened to make himself known to this turbulent roysterer, who +straightway forgot his grievance to take Westmacott affectionately by +the hand and overwhelm him with apologies. And that done, Trenchard--who +affected the condition known as maudlin drunk--must needs protest almost +in tears how profound was his love for Richard, and insist that the boy +return with him to the Bell Inn, that they might pledge each other. + +Richard, himself sober, was contemptuous of Trenchard so obviously +obfuscated. At first it was his impulse to excuse himself, as possibly +Blake might be already waiting for him; but on second thoughts, +remembering that Trenchard was Mr. Wilding's most intimate famulus, it +occurred to him that by a little crafty questioning he might succeed in +smoking Mr. Wilding's intentions in the matter of that letter--for from +his sister he had failed to get satisfaction. So he permitted himself to +be led indoors to a table by the window which stood vacant. There were +at the time a dozen guests or so in the common-room. Trenchard bawled +for 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 most +adroit of pumping could elicit from him any such information as Richard +sought. Perforce young Westmacott must remain, plying him with more and +more drink--and being plied in his turn--to the end that he might not +waste the occasion. + +An hour later found Richard much the worse for wear, and Trenchard +certainly no better. Richard forgot his purpose, forgot that Blake +waited for him at the Saracen's Head. And now Trenchard seemed to be +pulling himself together. + +“I want to talk to you, Richard,” said he, and although thick, there was +in 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're +disaffected.” + +Richard started, and his mind flapped and struggled like a trapped bird +to escape the meshes of the wine, to the end that he might convincingly +defend himself from such an imputation--so dangerously true. + +“'S a lie!” he gasped. + +Trenchard shut one eye and owlishly surveyed his companion with the +other. “They say,” he added, “that you're for forsaking 'Duke's party.” + +“Villainous!” Richard protested. “I'll sli' throat of any man 't says +so.” And draining the pewter at his elbow, he smashed it down on the +table to emphasize his seriousness. + +Trenchard replenished it with the utmost promptness, then sat back in +his tall chair and pulled a moment at the fresh pipe with which he had +equipped himself. + +“I think I espy,”' he quoted presently, “'virtue and valour crouched +in thine eye.' And yet... and yet... if I had cause to think it +true, I'd... I'd run you through the vitals--jus' so,” and he prodded +Richard's waistcoat with the point of his pipe-stem. His swarthy face +darkened, his eyes glittered fiercely. “Are ye sure ye're norrer foul +traitor?” he demanded suddenly. “Are y' sure, for if ye're not...” + +He left the terrible menace unuttered, but it was none the less +understood. It penetrated the vinous fog that beset the brain of +Richard, 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? A +man 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 a +heaven above and a hell below, I'll rip you up.” + +His mien was terrific, and his voice the more threatening in that it was +not 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 the +Duke,” said he at length. “Ther's truth 'n wine. Pledge me the Duke and +confusion to His Majesty the goldfinch.” Richard reached for his pewter, +glad that the test was to be so light. “Up on your feet, man,” grumbled +Trenchard. “On your feet, and see that your words have a ring of truth +in them.” + +Richard did as he was bidden, the little reason left him being +concentrated wholly on the convincing of his fellow tippler. He rose to +his feet, so unsteadily that his chair fell over with a bang. He never +heeded it, but others in the room turned at the sound, and a hush fell +in the chamber. Dominating this came Richard's voice, strident with +intensity, if thick of utterance. + +“Down with Popery, and God save the Protestant Duke!” he cried. “Down +with Popery!” And he looked at Trenchard for applause, and assurance +that 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 at +the treasonable words. + +A swift change came over Trenchard. His drunkenness fell from him like +a discarded mantle. He sat like a man amazed. Then he heaved himself to +his 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 he +thrust at Richard with his open palm, lightly yet with sufficient force +to throw Richard off his precarious balance and send him sprawling on +the 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 best +away.” + +Richard stood up, leaning his full weight upon the arm the landlord had +about his waist. He passed a hand over his brow, as if to brush aside +the 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? He +heard his companion's voice, raised to address the company. + +“Gentlemen,” he heard him say, “I trust there is none present will +impute to me any share in such treasonable sentiments as Mr. Westmacott +has expressed. But if there is any who questions my loyalty, I have +a convincing argument for him--in my scabbard.” And he struck his +sword-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 the +door. He looked back with a sardonic smile at the ado he was leaving +behind him, listened a moment to the voices that already were being +raised in excitement, then closed the door and made his way briskly +to the stable-yard, where he called for his horse. He rode out of +Bridgwater ten minutes later, and took the road to Taunton as the moon +was rising big and yellow over the hills on his left. He reached Taunton +towards ten o'clock that night, having ridden hell-to-leather. His +first visit was to the Hare and Hounds, where Blake and Westmacott had +overtaken the courier. His next to the house where Sir Edward Phelips +and Colonel Luttrell--the gentlemen lately ordered to Taunton by His +Majesty--had their lodging. + +The fruits of Mr. Trenchard's extraordinary behaviour that night were +to be seen at an early hour on the following day, when a constable and +three tything-men came with a Lord-Lieutenant's warrant to arrest Mr. +Richard Westmacott on a charge of high treason. They found the young man +still abed, and most guilty was his panic when they bade him rise and +dress himself--though little did he dream of the full extent to which +Mr. Trenchard had enmeshed him, or indeed that Mr. Trenchard had any +hand at all in this affair. What time he was getting into his clothes +with a tything-man outside his door and another on guard under his +window, the constable and his third myrmidon made an exhaustive search +of 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, they +proceeded no further with their reckless and destructive ransacking. + +With that letter and the person of Richard Westmacott, the constable and +his men took their departure, and rode back to Taunton, leaving alarm +and sore distress at Lupton House. In her despair poor Ruth was all for +following her brother, in the hope that at least by giving evidence +of how that letter came into his possession she might do something to +assist him. But knowing, as she did, that he had had his share in the +treason that was hatching, she had cause to fear that his guilt would +not lack for other proofs. It was Diana who urged her to repair instead +to the only man upon whose resource she might depend, provided he were +willing to exert it. That man was Anthony Wilding, and whether Diana +urged it from motives of her own or out of concern for Richard, it would +be difficult to say with certainty. + +The very thought of going to him for aid, after all that had passed, was +repugnant to Ruth. And yet what choice had she? Convinced by her cousin +and urged by her affection and duty to Richard, she repressed her +aversion, and, calling for a horse, rode out to Zoyland Chase, attended +by a groom. Wilding by good fortune was at home, hard at work upon a +mass of documents in that same library where she had talked with him on +the occasion of her first visit to his home--to the home of which she +remembered that she was now, herself, the mistress. He was preparing +for circulation in the West a mass of libels and incendiary pamphlets +calculated to forward the cause of the Protestant Duke. + +Dissembling his surprise, he bade old Walters--who left her waiting in +the hall whilst he went to announce her--to admit her instantly, and he +advanced 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,” said +she, and told him what had happened; that her brother had been arrested +for high treason, and that the constable in searching the house had come +upon the Monmouth letter she had locked away in her desk. + +“And not a doubt,” she ended, “but it will be believed that it was to +Richard the letter was indited by the Duke. You will remember that +its only address was 'to my good friend, W.,' and that will stand for +Westmacott as well as Wilding.” + +Mr. Wilding was fain to laugh at the irony of this surprising turn of +things of which she brought him news; for he had neither knowledge nor +suspicion of the machinations of his friend Trenchard, to which these +events 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 should +follow your brother's captors to Taunton, and inform the lieutenants of +how the letter came into your power.” + +She looked at him in anger almost at what seemed a callousness. “Would +he 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 away +my brother's life.” + +“Why, yes,” said he quite calmly, “it does occur to me. But does it not +occur 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,” he +added. “I think I'll bid them saddle for me without delay. Too long +already have I tarried.” + +“And must Richard hang?” she asked him fiercely. + +Mr. Wilding produced a snuffbox of tortoise shell and gold. He opened it +deliberately. “If he does, you'll admit that he will hang on the gallows +that he has built himself--although intended for another. I'faith! He's +not the first booby to be caught in his own springe. There is in this a +measure of poetic justice. Poetry and justice! Do you know, Ruth, +they are two things I have ever loved?” And he took a pinch of choice +Bergamot. + +“Will you be serious?” she demanded. + +“Trenchard would tell you that it were to make an exception from the +rule of my life,” he assured her, smiling. “Yet even that might I do at +your bidding.” + +“But this is a serious matter,” she told him angrily. + +“For Richard,” he acknowledged, closing his snuffbox with a snap. “Tell +me, what would you have 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 reminded +her. “Do you think that Richard is quite worth it?” + +“And are you to save yourself at the cost of his?” she +counter-questioned. “Are you capable of such a baseness?” + +He looked at her thoughtfully a moment. “You have not reflected,” said +he slowly, “that in this affair is involved more than mine or Richard's +life. There is a great cause weighing in the balance against all +personal considerations. If I accounted Richard of more value to +Monmouth than I am myself, I should not hesitate in riding to set +him free by taking his place. As it is, however, I think I am of the +greatest conceivable importance to His Grace, whilst if twenty Richards +perished--frankly--their loss would be something of a gain, for Richard +has played a traitor's part already. That is with me the first of all +considerations.” + +“Am I of no consideration to you?” she asked him. And in an agony of +terror for her brother she now approached him, and, obeying a sudden +impulse, cast herself upon her knees before him. “Listen!” she cried. + +“Not thus,” said he, a frown between his eyes. He took her by the elbows +and gently but very firmly brought her to her feet again. “It is not +fitting you should kneel save at your prayers.” + +She was standing now, and very close to him, his hands still held her +elbows, though their touch was so light that she scarce felt it. +To release them was easy, and the next second her hands were on his +shoulders, 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 her +lissom waist. “It is hard to deny you, Ruth,” said he. “Yet not my love +of my own life compels me; but my duty, my loyalty to the cause to which +I 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 fanned +his cheek, whither a faint colour crept in quick response. Despite +herself almost, instinctively, unconsciously, she exerted the weapons of +her sex to bend him to her will. + +“You say you love me,” she whispered. “Prove it me now, and I will +believe you. + +“Ah!” he sighed. “And believing me? What then?” + +He had himself grimly in hand, yet feared he should not prove strong +enough 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 to +hers and his lips burnt the lips she yielded to him as though they had +been living fire. + +Anon, she was to weep in shame--in shame and in astonishment--at that +instant of surrender, but for the moment she had no thought save for her +brother. Exultation filled her. She accounted that she had conquered, +and she gloried in the power her beauty gave her, a power that had +sufficed to melt to water the hard-frozen purposes of this self-willed +man. The next instant, however, she was cold again with dismay and +newborn terror. He unclasped her arms, he drew back, shaking off the +hands she had rested upon his shoulders. His white face--the flush had +faded from it again--smiled a thought disdainfully. + +“You bargain with me,” he said. “But I have some knowledge of your ways +of trading. They are overshrewd for an honest gentleman.” + +“You mean,” she gasped, her hand pressed to her heart, her face a +deathly 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 and +without power, to return to the assault. She had played and lost. She +had yielded her lips to his kisses, and--husband though he might be in +name--shame was her only guerdon. + +One look she gave him from out of that face so white and pitiful, then +with a shudder turned from him and fled his presence. He sprang after +her as the door closed, then checked and stood in thought, very grim for +one who professed to bestow no seriousness on the affairs of life. Then +he returned slowly to his writing-table, and rummaged there among the +papers with which it was encumbered, seeking something of which he now +had need. Through the open window he heard the retreating beat of her +horse's hoofs. He sighed and sat down heavily, to take his long square +chin in his hand and stare before him at the sunlight on the lawn +outside. + +And whilst he sat thus, Ruth made all haste back to Lupton House to tell +of the failure that had attended her. There was nothing left her now +but to embark upon the forlorn hope of following Richard to Taunton, to +offer her evidence of how the incriminating letter had come to be locked +in the drawer in which the constable had discovered it. Diana met her +with a face as white as her own and infinitely more startled. She had +just learnt that Sir Rowland Blake had been arrested also and that +he had been carried to Taunton together with Richard, and, as a +consequence, she was as eager now that Ruth should repair to Albemarle +as 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 that +Ruth gladly, gratefully accepted. + +Within an hour Ruth and Diana--in spite of all that poor, docile Lady +Horton had said to stay them--were riding to Taunton, attended by the +same 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 Edward +Phelips and Colonel Luttrell to dispense justice, and with them, flanked +by one of them on either side of him, sat Christopher Monk, Duke of +Albemarle, Lord-Lieutenant of Devonshire, who had been summoned in +all haste from Exeter that he might be present at an examination which +promised to be of so vast importance. The three sat at a long table at +the room's end, attended by two secretaries. + +Before them, guarded by constable and tything-men, weaponless, their +hands 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, was +very fearful--having through his connection with the Cause every reason +so to be. Blake, on the other hand, conscious of his innocence of any +plotting, was impatient of his position, and a thought contemptuous. +It was he who, upon being ushered by the constable and his men into the +august presence of the Lord-Lieutenant, clamoured to know precisely of +what he was accused that he might straightway clear himself. + +Albemarle reared his great massive head, smothered in a mighty black +peruke, and scowled upon the florid London beau. A black-visaged +gentleman was Christopher Monk. His pendulous cheeks, it is true, were +of a sallow pallor, but what with his black wig, black eyebrows, dark +eyes, and the blue-black tint of shaven beard on his great jaw and upper +lip, he presented an appearance sombrely sinister. His netherlip was +thick and very prominent; deep creases ran from the corners of his mouth +adown his heavy chin; his eyes were dull and lack-lustre, with great +pouches under them. In the main, the air of this son of the great +Parliamentarian general was stupid, dull, unprepossessing. + +The creases of his mouth deepened as Blake protested against what he +termed 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 by +answering. “We have learnt the reason why you left London and your +creditors, and in all my life, sir, I have never known a man more ready +to turn his hand to treason than a broken gamester. Your kind turns by +instinct to such work as this, as a last resource for the mending of +battered fortunes.” + +Blake crimsoned from chin to brow. “I'm forejudged, it, seems,” he made +answer haughtily, tossing his fair locks, his blue eyes glaring upon his +judges. “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 only +shall you know the name of your accuser, but you shall be confronted by +him. Meanwhile, sirs”--and his glance strayed from Blake's flushed and +angry countenance to Richard's, pale and timid--“meanwhile, are we to +understand 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 took +up. It impeached Sir Rowland Blake and Mr. Richard Westmacott of holding +treasonable communication with James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, and of +plotting against His Majesty's life and throne and the peace of His +Majesty's realms. + +Blake listened with unconcealed impatience to the farrago of legal +phrases, and snorted contemptuously when the reading came to an end. + +Albemarle looked at him darkly. “I do thank God,” said he, “that through +Mr. Westmacott's folly has this hideous plot, this black and damnable +treason, been brought to light in time to enable us to stamp out this +fire 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 Sir +Rowland bluntly: “I never plotted in my life against anything but my own +prosperity, 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 that +his voice should ring bold and resolute. + +“A charge built on air,” sneered Blake, “which the first breath of truth +should utterly dispel. We have heard the impeachment. Will Your Grace +with the same consideration permit us to see the proofs that we may lay +bare 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 I +have no share in any, that I am acquainted with none.” + +“Call Mr. Trenchard,” said the Duke quietly, and an usher who had stood +tamely 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 of +Mr. Trenchard. + +Colonel Luttrell--lean and wiry--now addressed the prisoners, Blake more +particularly. “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 that +deep booming voice of his, “there spoke a traitor! You do not care, you +say, what plots may be hatched against His Majesty's life and crown! Yet +you ask me to believe you a true and loyal subject.” + +Blake was angered; he was at best a short-tempered man. Deliberately he +floundered 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 not +been fetched hither to be confronted with what Your Grace believes. You +have preferred a lying charge against me; I ask for proofs, not Your +Grace'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 of +your proofs, you shall be constrained to restore me to liberty, I shall +ask Your Grace to unsay that word.” + +Albemarle stared, confounded, and in that moment the door opened, and +Trenchard sauntered in, cane in hand, his hat under his arm, a wicked +smile on his wizened face. + +Leaving Blake's veiled threat unanswered, the Duke turned to the old +rake. “These rogues,” said he, pointing to the prisoners, “demand proofs +ere 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 the +counts 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, you +damned rogue, or by God! I'll commit you forthwith.” + +“I will endeavour,” said Blake, with a sarcasm lost on Albemarle, “to +follow Your Grace's lofty example.” + +“You will do well, sir,” said the Duke, and was shocked that Trenchard +should laugh at such a moment. + +“I was about to protest, sir,” said Blake, “that it is monstrous +I should be accused by Mr. Trenchard. He has but the slightest +acquaintance with me.” + +Trenchard bowed to him across the chamber. “Admitted, sir,” said +he. “What should I be doing in bad company?” An answer this that set +Albemarle bawling with laughter. Trenchard turned to the Duke. “I will +begin, an it please Your Grace, with the expressions used last night in +my presence at the Bell Inn at Bridgwater by Mr. Richard Westmacott, and +I will confine myself strictly to those matters on which my testimony +can be corroborated by that of other witnesses.” + +Colonel Luttrell interrupted him to turn to Richard. “Do you recall +those expressions, sir?” he asked him. + +Richard winced under the question. Nevertheless, he braced himself to +make the best defence he could. “I have not yet heard,” said he, “what +those expressions were; nor when I hear them must it follow that I +recognize them as my own. I must admit to having taken more wine, +perhaps, than... than...” Whilst he sought the expression that he needed +Trenchard cut in with a laugh. “In vino veritas, gentlemen,” and +His Grace and Sir Edward nodded sagely; Luttrell preserved a stolid +exterior. He seemed less prone than his colleagues to forejudging. + +“Will you repeat the expressions used by Mr. Westmacott?” Sir Edward +begged. + +“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 the +Protestant Duke!” + +“Do you admit it, sir?” thundered Albemarle, his eyes glowering upon +Richard hesitated a moment, pale and trembling. + +“You will waste breath in denying it,” said Trenchard suavely, “for I +have a drawer from the Bell Inn, and two gentlemen who overheard you +waiting 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 of +argument. “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 men +who drink to the prosperity of the late Kings's son...” + +“Natural son, sir; natural son,” Albemarle amended. “It is treason to +speak 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 long +committing.” + +“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 irrelevancies +to make good his point, “there be many men who drink daily to the +prosperity of the late King's natural son.” + +“Aye, sir,” answered Albemarle; “but not his prosperity in horrid plots +against the life of our beloved sovereign.” + +“True, Your Grace; very true,” purred Sir Edward. “It was not so I meant +to toast him,” cried Richard. Albemarle made an impatient gesture, +and took up a sheet of paper. “How, then,” he asked, “comes this +letter--this letter which makes plain the treason upon which the Duke +of Monmouth is embarked, just as it makes plain your participation in +it--how comes this letter to be found in your possession?” And he waved +the letter in the air. + +Richard went the colour of ashes. He faltered a moment, then took refuge +in the truth, for all that he knew beforehand that the truth was bound +to 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 for +Wilkins, 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 shall +bear 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, “that +Mr. 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 been +addressed, 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 had +come to realize that his friend's affairs were not mended by his +interruptions, 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 and +I--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, and +it was plain he mocked the prisoner. It was, moreover, a request that +staggered Richard. Still, he sought to find a reason that should sound +plausible. + +“We inferred it from certain remarks that Mr. Wilding let fall in our +presence.” + +“Tell us the remarks, sir,” the Duke insisted. + +“Indeed, I do not call his precise words to mind, Your Grace. But they +were such that we suspicioned him.” + +“And you would have me believe that hearing words which awoke in you +such grave suspicions, you kept your suspicions and straightway forgot +the 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 the +point, and let us come to those matters which are of greater moment. Let +him tell Your Grace how he came by the letter.” + +“Aye,” said Albemarle. “We do but waste time. Tell us, then, how came +the letter into your hands?” + +“With Sir Rowland, here, I robbed the courier as he was riding from +Taunton to Bridgwater.” + +Albemarle laughed, and Sir Edward smiled. “You robbed him, eh?” said His +Grace. “Very well. But how did it happen that you knew he had the letter +upon him, or was it that you were playing the hightobymen, and that in +robbing 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 confound +them both with the truth of this matter.” + +“That letter,” said Trenchard, “was delivered to them at the Hare and +Hounds, here at Taunton, by a gentleman who put up at the inn, and was +there joined by Mr. Westmacott and Sir Rowland Blake. They opened +the conversation with certain cant phrases very clearly intended as +passwords. Thus: the prisoners said to the messenger, as they seated +themselves at the table he occupied, 'You have the air, sir, of being +from overseas,' to which the courier answered, 'Indeed, yes. I am from +Holland. 'From the land of Orange,' says one of the prisoners. 'Aye, and +other things,' replies the messenger. 'There is a fair wind blowing,' he +adds; to which one of the prisoners, I believe it was Sir Rowland, makes +answer, 'Mayit prosper the Protestant Duke and blow Popery to hell.' +Thereupon the landlord caught some mention of a letter, but these +plotters, perceiving that they were perhaps being overheard, sent him +away 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's +story. How do you say--is it true or untrue?” + +“You will waste breath in denying it,” Trenchard took it again upon +himself to admonish them. “For I have with me the landlord of the Hare +and Hounds, who will corroborate, upon oath, what I have said.” + +“We do not deny it,” put in Blake. “But we submit that the matter is +susceptible to explanation.” + +“You can keep your explanations till your trial, then,” snapped +Albemarle. “I have heard more than enough to commit the pair of you to +gaol.” + +“But, Your Grace,” cried Sir Rowland, so fiercely that one of the +tything-men set a restraining hand upon his shoulder, “I am ready to +swear that what I did, and what my friend Mr. Westmacott did, was done +in the interests of His Majesty. We were working to discover this plot.” + +“Which, no doubt,” put in Trenchard slyly, “is the reason why, having +got the letter, your friend Mr. Westmacott locked it in a desk, and you +kept silence on the matter.” + +“You see,” exclaimed Albemarle, “how your lies do but serve further to +bind you in the toils. It is ever thus with traitors.” + +“I do think you are a damned traitor, Trenchard,” began Blake; “a +foul...” + +But what more he would have said was checked by Albemarle, who thundered +forth an order for their removal, and then, scarce were the words +uttered than the door at the far end of the hall was opened, and through +it came a sound of women's voices. Richard started, for one was the +voice of Ruth. + +An usher advanced. “May it please Your Grace, there are two ladies here +beg that you will hear their evidence in the matter of Mr. Westmacott +and 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 interests +of His Majesty, perhaps, we should be doing well to receive them.” + +Albemarle blew out his cheeks like a man wearied, and stared an instant +at Luttrell. Then he shrugged his shoulders. + +“Admit them, then,” he commanded almost peevishly, and Ruth and Diana +were ushered into the hall. Both were pale, but whilst Diana was +fluttered with excitement, Ruth was calm and cool, and it was she who +spoke in answer to the Duke's invitation. The burden of her speech was +a clear, succinct recitation--in which she spared neither Wilding +nor herself--of how the letter came to have remained in her hands and +silence to have been preserved regarding it. Albemarle heard her very +patiently. + +“If what you say is true, mistress,” said he, “and God forbid that +I should be so ungallant as to throw doubt upon a lady's word, it +certainly explains--although most strangely--how the letter was not +brought to us at once by your brother and his friend Sir Rowland. You +are 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 you +say 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's +friend, and if there is a plot he is sure to be in it.” + +Albemarle, startled, looked at Trenchard. Had the accusation come from +either 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 Grace +worthy at least of consideration. But nimble Mr. Trenchard was easily +master of the situation. + +“Which, of course,” he answered, with fine sarcasm, “is the reason why +I have been at work for the past four-and-twenty hours to lay proofs of +this plot before Your Grace.” + +Albemarle was ashamed of his momentary hesitation. + +“For the rest,” said Trenchard, “it is perfectly true that I am Mr. +Wilding's friend. But the lady is even more intimately connected with +him. It happens that she is his wife.” + +“His... his wife!” gasped the Duke, whilst Phelips chuckled, and Colonel +Luttrell's face grew dark. + +Trenchard's wicked smile flickered upon his mobile features. “There are +rumours current of court paid her by Sir Rowland, there. Who knows?” he +questioned most suggestively, arching his brows and tightening his lips. +“Wives are strange kittle-kattle, and husbands have been known before to +grow inconvenient. Upon reflection, Your Grace will no doubt discern the +precise degree of faith to attach to what this lady may tell you against +Mr. Wilding.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Ruth, her cheeks flaming crimson. “But this is +monstrous!” + +“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 a +flood of light, whilst so frank and truthful was her tone, her narrative +hung so well together, that the Bench began to recover from the shock to +its faith, and was again in danger of believing her. Trenchard saw this +and trembled. To save Wilding for the Cause he had resorted to this +desperate expedient of betraying that Cause. It must be observed, +however, that he had not done so save under the conviction that betrayed +it was bound to be, and that since that was inevitable the thing had +better 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 he +had determined to hoist Richard and Blake with their own petard, hoping +that, after all, the harm would reach no further than the destruction of +these two--a purely defensive measure. But now this girl threatened +to 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 a +time served to impress the Duke most unfavourably--as well it might. + +“It is our wish to hear this lady out, Mr. Trenchard,” the Duke reproved +him. + +But Mr. Trenchard was undismayed. Indeed, he had just discovered a +hitherto neglected card, which should put an end to this dangerous game. + +“I do abhor to hear Your Grace's patience thus abused,” he exclaimed +with some show of heat. “This lady makes a mock of you. If you'll allow +me to ask two questions--or perhaps three--I'll promise finally to prick +this bubble for you. Have I Your Grace's leave?” + +“Well, well,” said Albemarle. “Let us hear your questions.” And his +colleagues nodded. + +Trenchard turned airily to Ruth. Behind her Diana sat--an attendant had +fetched 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 towards +her. + +“This letter, madam,” said he, “for the possession of which you have +accounted in so... so... picturesque a manner, was intended for and +addressed to Mr. Wilding, you say. And you are prepared to swear to it?” + +Ruth turned indignantly to the Bench. “Must I answer this man's +questions?” she demanded. + +“I think, perhaps, it were best you did,” said the Duke, still showing +her 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 actor +that he was and versed in tricks that impress an audience--interrupted +her, raising one of his gnarled, yellow hands. + +“Nay, nay,” said he. “I would not have perjury proved against you. I do +not ask you to swear. It will be sufficient if you pronounce yourself +prepared to swear.” + +She pouted her lip a trifle, her whole expression manifesting her +contempt of him. “I am in no fear of perjuring myself,” she answered +fearlessly. “And I swear that the letter in question was addressed to +Mr. Wilding.” + +“As you will,” said Trenchard, and was careful not to ask her how she +came 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 whom +the letter was addressed?” he half questioned, and Luttrell, who saw the +drift of the question, nodded gravely. + +“No doubt,” said Ruth. + +“Now you will acknowledge, I am sure, madam, that such a wrapper would +be a document of the greatest importance, as important, indeed, as the +letter itself, since we could depend upon it finally to clear up this +point on which we differ. You will admit so much, I think?” + +“Why, yes,” she answered, but her voice faltered a little, and her +glance was not quite so fearless. She, too, saw at last the pit he had +dug for her. He leaned forward, smiling quietly, his voice impressively +subdued, and launched the bolt that was to annihilate the credibility of +the story she had told. + +“Can you, then, explain how it comes that that wrapper has been +suppressed? Can you tell us how--the matter being as you state it--in +very self-defence against the dangers of keeping such a letter, your +brother did not also keep that wrapper?” + +Her eyes fell away from his face, they turned to Albemarle, who sat +scowling again, and from him they flickered unsteadily to Phelips and +Luttrell, 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 that +wrapper?” quoth he. “Need I say what name was inscribed upon it? I think +not. Your Grace's keen insight, and yours, gentlemen, will determine +what was probable.” + +Sir Rowland now stood forward, addressing Albemarle. “Will Your Grace +permit me to offer my explanation of this?” + +Albemarle banged the table. His patience was at an end, since he came +now to believe--as Trenchard had earlier suggested--that he had been +played upon by Ruth. + +“Too many explanations have I heard already, sir,” he answered. He +turned to one of his secretaries. In his sudden excess of choler he +forgot his colleagues altogether. “The prisoners are committed for +trial,” said he harshly, and Trenchard breathed freely at last. But the +next instant he caught his breath again, for a ringing voice was heard +without demanding to see His Grace of Albemarle at once, and the voice +was the voice of Anthony Wilding. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE MARPLOT + +Mr. Wilding's appearance produced as many different emotions as there +were individuals present. He made the company a sweeping bow on his +admission by Albemarle's orders, a bow which was returned by a stare +from one and all. Diana eyed him in amazement, Ruth in hope; Richard +averted his glance from that of his brother-in-law, whilst Sir Rowland +met it with a scowl of enmity--they had not come face to face since the +occasion of that encounter in which Sir Rowland's self-love had been so +rudely handled. Albemarle's face expressed a sort of satisfaction, +which was reflected on the countenances of Phelips and Luttrell; whilst +Trenchard never thought of attempting to dissemble his profound dismay. +And this dismay was shared, though not in so deep a measure, by Wilding +himself. Trenchard's presence gave him pause; for he had been far, +indeed, from dreaming that his friend had a hand in this affair. At +sight of him all was made clear to Mr. Wilding. At once he saw the role +which Trenchard had assumed on this occasion, saw to the bottom of the +motives that had inspired him to take the bull by the horns and level +against Richard and Blake this accusation before they had leisure to +level it against himself. + +His quick wits having fathomed Trenchard's motive, Mr. Wilding was +deeply touched by this proof of friendship, and for a second, as deeply +nonplussed, at loss now how to discharge the task on which he came. + +“You are very choicely come, Mr. Wilding,” said Albemarle. “You will be +able to resolve me certain doubts which have been set on foot by these +traitors.” + +“That,” said Mr. Wilding, “is the purpose for which I am here. News +reached me of the arrest that had been made. May I beg that Your Grace +will place me in possession of the facts that have so far transpired.” + +It was one of his secretaries who, at Albemarle's bidding, gave Wilding +the information that he craved. He listened gravely; then, before +Albemarle had time to question him on the score of the name that might +have been upon the enfolding wrapper of the letter, he begged that he +might confer apart a moment with Mr. Trenchard. + +“But Mr. Wilding,” said Colonel Luttrell, surprised not to hear the +immediate denial of the imputation they had expected, “we should first +like to hear...” + +“By your leave, sirs,” Wilding interrupted, “I should prefer that +you ask me nothing until I have consulted with Mr. Trenchard.” He saw +Luttrell's frown, observed Sir Edward shift his wig to scratch his head +in sheer perplexity, and caught the fore-shadowing of denial on the +Duke's face. So, without giving any of them time to say him nay, he +added quickly and very seriously, “I am begging this in the interests of +justice. Your Grace has told me that some lingering doubt still haunts +your mind upon the subject of this letter--the other charges can matter +little, apart from that treasonable document. It lies within my power to +resolve such doubts most clearly and finally. But I warn you, sirs, that +not one word will I utter in this connection until I have had speech +with Mr. Trenchard.” + +There was about his mien and voice a firmness that forewarned Albemarle +that to insist would be worse than idle. A slight pause followed his +words, and Luttrell leaned across to whisper in His Grace's ear; from +the Duke's other side Sir Edward bent his head forward till it almost +touched those of his companions. Blake watched, and was most foolishly +impatient. + +“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's +not consenting. + +It was the one thing needed to determine Albemarle. Like the stubborn +man he was, there was naught he detested so much as to have his course +dictated to him. More than that, in Sir Rowland's anxiety that Wilding +and Trenchard should not be allowed to confer apart, he smoked a fear +on Sir Rowland's part, based upon the baronet's consciousness of his own +guilt. He turned from him with a sneering smile, and without so much +as consulting his associates he glanced at Wilding and waved his hand +towards the door. + +“Pray do as you suggest, Mr. Wilding,” said he. “But I depend upon you +not to tax our patience.” + +“I shall not keep Mr. Trenchard a moment longer than is necessary,” said +Wilding, giving no hint of the second meaning in his words. + +He stepped to the door, opened it himself, and signed to Trenchard to +pass out. The old player obeyed him readily, if in silence. An usher +closed the door after them, and in silence they walked together to the +end of the passage. + +“Where is your horse, Nick?” quoth Wilding abruptly. + +“What a plague do you mean, where is my horse?” flashed Trenchard. “What +midsummer frenzy is this? Damn you for a marplot, Anthony! What a pox +are you thinking of to thrust yourself in here at such a time?” + +“I had no knowledge you were in the affair,” said Wilding. “You should +have 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 Trenchard in a passion. “You have spoiled +everything!” + +“On the contrary,” said Mr. Wilding tartly, “it seems you had done that +very thoroughly before I arrived. Whilst I am touched by the regard for +me 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 they +stood.” + +Trenchard stamped his foot; indeed, he almost danced in the excess of +his vexation. “Left them where they stood!” he echoed. “Body o' me! +Where are your wits? Left them where they stood! And at any moment you +might have been taken unawares as a consequence of this accusation being +lodged against you by Richard or by Blake. Then the Cause would have +been betrayed, indeed.” + +“Not more so than it is now.” + +“Not less, at least,” snapped the player. “You give me credit for no +more wit than yourself. Do you think that I am the man to do things by +halves? I have betrayed the plot to Albemarle; but do you imagine I have +made 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 Nick +Trenchard'll be what time that messenger rides?” + +Mr. Wilding understood. “Aye, you may stare,” sneered Trenchard. “A +letter that has once been stolen may be stolen again. The courier must +go by way of Walford. I had in my mind arranged the spot, close by the +ford, where I should fall upon him, rob him of his dispatches, and take +him--bound hand and foot if necessary--to Vallancey's, who lives close +by; 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 thing +were 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 these +crack-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 the +Contents of that stolen letter.” + +Wilding started. Underlying his disbelief in the talk of the +countryside, and even in the military measures which by the King's +orders were being taken in the West, was an uneasy dread lest they +should prove to be well founded, lest Argyle's operations in Scotland +should be but the forerunner of a rash and premature invasion by +Monmouth. He knew the Duke was surrounded by such reckless, foolhardy +counsellors as Grey and Ferguson--and yet he could not think the Duke +would ruin all by coming before he had definite word that his friends +were ready. He looked at Trenchard now with anxious eyes. + +“Have you seen the letter, Nick?” he asked, and almost dreaded the +reply. + +“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 he +will follow it in a few days--in a few days, man in person.” + +Mr. Wilding clenched teeth and hands. “God help us all, then!” he +muttered grimly. + +“Meanwhile,” quoth Trenchard, bringing him back to the point, “there is +this precious business here. I had as choice a plan as could have been +devised, and it must have succeeded, had you not come blundering into it +to mar it all at the last moment. That fat fool Albemarle had swallowed +my impeachment like a draught of muscadine. Do you hear me?” he ended +sharply, for Mr. Wilding stood bemused, his thoughts plainly wandering. + +He let his hand fall upon Trenchard's shoulder. “No,” said he, “I wasn't +listening. No matter; for even had I known the full extent of your +scheme I still must have interfered.” + +“For the sake of Mistress Westmacott's blue eyes, no doubt,” sneered +Trenchard. “Pah! Wherever there's a woman there's the loss of a man.” + +“For the sake of Mistress Wilding's blue eyes,” his friend corrected +him. “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 him +in 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 the +heels 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 ruin all. Away with you, +Trenchard!” + +“By my soul, no!” answered Trenchard. “I'll not leave you. If I have got +you 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 to +ambush the messenger. The letter will go to Whitehall none the less in +spite of what I shall tell Albemarle. If things go well with me, I shall +join 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 the +corridor, and Albemarle's booming voice, impatiently raised, reached +them 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 his +vexation. Up the passage floated the constable's voice calling them. + +Side by side they moved down, and side by side they stepped once more +into the presence of Christopher Monk and his associates. + +“Sirs, you have not been in haste,” was the Duke's ill-humoured +greeting. + +“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 had +slipped into his new role. + +Albemarle waved the frivolous rejoinder aside. “Come, Mr. Wilding,” said +he, “let us hear what you may have to say. You are not, I take it, about +to 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; but +it was only Ruth whose eyes were shrewd enough to observe the altered +demeanour of the latter. Her hopes rose, founded upon this oddly +assorted pair. Already in anticipation she was stirred by gratitude +towards Wilding, and it was in impatient and almost wondering awe that +she waited for him to proceed. + +“I take it, sir,” he said, without waiting for Albemarle to express +any of the fresh astonishment his countenance manifested, “that the +accusation against these gentlemen rests entirely upon the letter which +you have been led to believe was addressed to Mr. Westmacott.” + +The Duke scowled a moment before replying. “Why,” said he, “if it could +be shown--irrefutably shown--that the letter was not addressed to either +of them, that would no doubt establish the truth of what they say--that +they possessed themselves of the letter in the interests of His +Majesty.” He turned to Luttrell and Phelips, and they nodded their +concurrence with his view of the matter. “But,” he continued, “if +you are proposing to prove any such thing, I think you will find it +difficult.” + +Mr. Wilding drew a crumpled paper from his pocket. “When the courier +whom they robbed, as they have correctly informed you,” said he quietly, +“suspected their design upon the contents of his wallet, he bethought +him of removing the wrapper from the letter, so that in case the +letter were seized by them it should prove nothing against any man +in particular. He stuffed the wrapper into the lining of his hat, +preserving it as a proof of his good faith against the time when he +should bring the letter to its destination, or come to confess that it +had been taken from him. That wrapper the courier brought to me, and I +have it here. The evidence it will give should be more than sufficient +to warrant your restoring these unjustly accused gentlemen their +liberty.” + +“The courier took it to you?” echoed Albemarle, stupefaction in his +glance. “But why to you?” + +“Because,” said Wilding, and with his left hand he placed the wrapper +before Albemarle, whilst his right dropped again to his pocket, “the +letter, as you may see, was addressed to me.” + +The quiet manner in which he made the announcement conveyed almost as +great a shock as the announcement itself. + +Albemarle took up the wrapper; Luttrell and Phelips craned forward to +join 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 of +him. + +“What lies have I been hearing, then?” he demanded furiously of +Trenchard. “'Slife I'll make an example of you. Arrest me that +rogue--arrest them both,” and he half rose from his seat, his trembling +hand pointing to Wilding and Trenchard. + +Two of the tything-men stirred to do his bidding, but in the same +instant Albemarle found himself looking into the round nozzle of a +pistol. + +“If,” said Mr. Wilding, “a finger is laid upon Mr. Trenchard or me I +shall have the extreme mortification of being compelled to shoot Your +Grace.” + +His pleasantly modulated voice was as deliberate and calm as if he were +offering the Bench a pinch of snuff. Albemarle's dark visage crimsoned; +his eyes became at once wicked and afraid. Sir Edward's cheeks turned +pale, 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-stricken +halt. Diana had risen from her chair in the excitement of the moment and +had drawn close to Ruth, who looked on with parted lips and bosom +that rose and fell. Even Blake could not stifle his admiration of +Mr. Wilding's coolness and address. Richard, on the other hand, was +concerned only with thoughts for himself, wondering how it would fare +with him if Wilding and Trenchard succeeded in getting away. + +“Nick,” said Mr. Wilding, “will you desire those catchpolls behind us +to stand aside? If Your Grace raises your voice to call for help, if, +indeed, any measures are taken calculated to lead to our capture, I +can promise Your Grace--notwithstanding my profound reluctance to use +violence--that they will be the last measures you will take in life. Be +good enough to open the door, Nick, and to see that the key is on the +outside.” + +Trenchard, who was by way of enjoying himself now, stepped briskly +down the hall to do as his friend bade him, with a wary eye on the +tything-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 before +this, and they knew his appearance now. From the doorway Trenchard +called Mr. Wilding. + +“I must be going, Your Grace,” said the latter very courteously, “but +I shall not be so wanting in deference to His Majesty's august +representatives as to turn my back upon you.” Saying which, he walked +backwards, holding his pistol level, until he had reached Trenchard and +the door. There he paused and made them a deep bow, his manner the more +mocking in that there was no tinge of mockery perceptible. “Your very +obedient servant,” said he, and stepped outside. Trenchard turned the +key, withdrew it from the lock, and, standing on tiptoe, thrust it upon +the ledge of the lintel. + +Instantly a clamour arose within the chamber. But the two friends never +stayed to listen. Down the passage they sped at the double, and out +into the courtyard. Here Ruth's groom, mounted himself, was walking his +mistress's and Diana's horses up and down whilst he waited; yonder one +of Sir Edward's stable-boys was holding Mr. Wilding's roan. Two or three +men of the Somerset militia, in their red and yellow liveries, lounged +by the gates, and turned uninterested eyes upon these newcomers. + +Wilding approached his wife's groom. “Get down,” he said, “I need your +horse--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 to +dismount by almost dragging him from the saddle. “Up with you, Nick,” + said he, and Nick very promptly mounted. “Your mistress will be here +presently,” Wilding told the groom, and, turning on his heel, strode +to his own mare. A moment later Trenchard and he vanished through the +gateway with a tremendous clatter, just as the Lord-Lieutenant, Colonel +Luttrell, Sir Edward Phelips, the constable, the tything-men, Sir +Rowland, Richard, and the ladies made their appearance. + +Ruth pushed her way quickly to the front. She feared lest her horse +and her cousin's being at hand might be used for the pursuit; so urging +Diana to do the same, she snatched her reins from the hands of the +dumbfounded groom and leapt nimbly to the saddle. + +“After them!” roared Albemarle, and the constable with two of his +men made a dash for the gateway to raise the hue and cry, whilst +the militiamen watched them in stupid, inactive wonder. “Damnation, +mistress!” thundered the Duke in ever-increasing passion, “hold your +nag! Hold your nag, woman!” For Ruth's horse had become unmanageable, +and was caracoling about the yard between the men and the gateway in +such a manner that they dared not attempt to win past her. + +“You have scared him with your bellowing,” she panted, tugging at the +bridle, and all but backed into the constable who had been endeavouring +to get round behind her. The beast continued its wild prancing, and the +Duke abated nothing in his furious profanity, until suddenly the groom, +having relinquished to Diana the reins of the other horse, sprang to +Ruth's assistance and caught her bridle in a firm grasp which brought +the animal to a standstill. + +“You fool!” she hissed at him, and half raised her whip to strike, but +checked on the impulse, bethinking her in time that, after all, what the +poor lad had done he had done thinking her distressed. + +The constable and a couple of his fellows won through; others were +rousing the stable and getting to horse, and in the courtyard all was +bustle and commotion. Meanwhile, however, Mr. Wilding and Trenchard had +made 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 Taunton +streets 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 wild +approach, started upon recognizing them, and turned in his saddle as +they swept past him to call upon them excitedly to stop. + +“Hi!” he shouted. “Nick Trenchard! Hi! Wilding!” Then, seeing that they +either 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 angry +silence. + +Now, despite their natural anxiety for their own safety, Wilding and +Trenchard had by no means abandoned their project of taking cover by the +ford to await the messenger whom Albemarle and the others would no +doubt be sending to Whitehall; and this mad fellow thundering after them +seemed in a fair way to mar their plan. As they reluctantly passed the +spot they had marked out for their ambush, splashed through the ford and +breasted the rising ground beyond, they took counsel. They determined +to stand and meet this rash pursuer. Trenchard calmly opined that if +necessary they must shoot him; he was, I fear, a bloody-minded fellow +at bottom, although, it is true he justified himself now by pointing out +that this was no time to hesitate at trifles. Partly because they +talked and partly because the gradient was steep and their horses +needed breathing, they slackened rein, and the horseman behind them +came tearing through the water of the ford and lessened the distance +considerably in the next few minutes. + +He bethought him of using his lungs once more. “Hi, Wilding! Hold, damn +you!” + +“He curses you in a most intimate manner,” quoth Trenchard. + +Wilding reined in and turned in the saddle. “His voice has a familiar +sound,” said he. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked down the +slope at the pursuer, who came on crouching low upon the withers of his +goaded beast. + +“Wait!” the fellow shouted. “I have news--news for you!” + +“It's Vallancey!” cried Wilding suddenly. Trenchard too had drawn +rein and was looking behind him. Instead of expressing relief at the +discovery that this was not an enemy, he swore at the trouble to +which they had so needlessly put themselves, and he was still at his +vituperations when Vallancey came up with them, red in the face and very +angry, cursing them roundly for the folly of their mad career, and for +not having stopped when he bade them. + +“It was no doubt discourteous,” said Mr. Wilding “but we took you for +some friend of the Lord-Lieutenant's.” + +“Are they after you?” quoth Vallancey, his face of a sudden very +startled. + +“Like enough,” said Trenchard, “if they have found their horses yet.” + +“Forward, then,” Vallancey urged them in excitement, and he picked up +his reins again. “You shall hear my news as we ride.” + +“Not so,” said Trenchard. “We have business here down yonder at the +ford.” + +“Business? What business?” + +They told him, and scarce had they got the words out than he cut in +impatiently. “That's no matter now. + +“Not yet, perhaps,” said Mr. Wilding; “but it will be if that letter +gets to Whitehall.” + +“Odso!” was the impatient retort, “there's other news travelling to +Whitehall that will make small-beer of this--and belike it's well on its +way there already.” + +“What news is that?” asked Trenchard. Vallancey told them. “The Duke has +landed--he came ashore this morning at Lyme.” + +“The Duke?” quoth Mr. Wilding, whilst Trenchard merely stared. “What +Duke?” + +“What Duke! Lord, you weary me! What dukes be there? The Duke of +Monmouth, man.” + +“Monmouth!” They uttered the name in a breath. “But is this really +true?” 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 Lackington +three hours ago when the news came to George Speke, and I was riding to +carry it to you, going by way of Taunton that I might drop word of it +for 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 already +he had learnt--to credit this amazing news. It was hard to believe the +Duke of Monmouth mad enough to spoil all by this sudden and unheralded +precipitation. + +“You heard the news at White Lackington?” said he slowly. “Who carried +it thither?” + +“There were two messengers,” answered Vallancey, with restrained +impatience, “and they were Heywood Dare--who has been appointed +paymaster to the Duke's forces--and Mr. Chamberlain.” + +Mr. Wilding was observed for once to change colour. He gripped Vallancey +by 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 wry +face. “I never thought but that we were working in the service of a +hairbrain,” said he contemptuously. + +Vallancey proceeded to details. “Dare and Chamberlain,” he informed +them, “came off the Duke's own frigate at daybreak to-day. They were put +ashore 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 a +hundred men? Oh, this is midsummer frenzy.” + +“He counts on all true Protestants to flock to his banner,” put in +Trenchard, and it was not plain whether he expressed a fact or sneered +at one. + +“Does he bring money and arms, at least?” asked Wilding. + +“I did not ask,” answered Vallancey. “But Dare told us that three +vessels had come over, so that it is to be supposed he brings some +manner of provision with him.” + +“It is to be hoped so, Vallancey; but hardly to be supposed,” quoth +Trenchard, and then he touched Wilding on the arm and pointed with his +whip across the fields towards Taunton. A cloud of dust was rising from +between tall hedges where ran the road. “I think it were wise to be +moving. At least, this sudden landing of James Scott relieves my mind in +the matter of that letter.” + +Wilding, having taken a look at the floating dust that announced the +oncoming of their pursuers, was now lost in thought. Vallancey, who, +beyond excitement at the news of which he was the bearer, seemed to have +no opinion of his own as to the wisdom or folly of the Duke's sudden +arrival, looked from one to the other of these two men whom he had known +as the prime secret agents in the West, and waited. Trenchard moved his +horse a few paces nearer the hedge, “Whither now, Anthony?” he asked +suddenly. + +“You may ask, indeed!” exclaimed Wilding, and his voice was as bitter +as ever Trenchard had heard it. “'S heart! We are in it now! We had +best make for Lyme--if only that we may attempt to persuade this +crack-brained boy to ship back to Holland again, and ship ourselves with +him.” + +“There's sense in you at last,” grumbled Trenchard. “But I misdoubt me +he'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 way +of 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 do +it easily, and have little fear of being followed. They'll naturally +take 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 Lyme +to kiss the hand of the Protestant Duke. They rode hard, as Wilding had +said they must, and they reached the junction of the roads before their +pursuers hove in sight. Here Wilding suddenly detained them again. The +road ahead of them ran straight for almost a mile, so that if they took +it now they were almost sure to be seen presently by the messengers. +On their right a thickly grown coppice stretched from the road to the +stream that babbled in the hollow. He gave it as his advice that they +should lie hidden there until those who hunted them should have gone by. +Obviously that was the only plan, and his companions instantly adopted +it. They found a way through a gate into an adjacent field, and from +this they gained the shelter of the trees. Trenchard, neglectful of +his finery and oblivious of the ubiquitous brambles, left his horse in +Vallancey's care and crept to the edge of the thicket that he might take +a peep at the pursuers. + +They came up very soon, six militiamen in lobster coats with yellow +facings, and a sergeant, which was what Mr. Trenchard might have +expected. There was, however, something else that Mr. Trenchard did not +expect; something that afforded him considerable surprise. At the head +of the party rode Sir Rowland Blake--obviously leading it--and with him +was Richard Westmacott. Amongst them went a man in grey clothes, +whom Mr. Trenchard rightly conjectured to be the messenger riding for +Whitehall. He thought with a smile of what a handful he and +Wilding would have had had they waited to rob that messenger of the +incriminating letter that he bore. Then he checked his smile to consider +again how Sir Rowland Blake came to head that party. He abandoned the +problem, as the little troop swept unhesitatingly round to the left and +went pounding along the road that led northwards to Bridgwater, clearly +never doubting which way their quarry had sped. + +As for Sir Rowland Blake's connection with this pursuit, the town +gallant had by his earnestness not only convinced Colonel Luttrell of +his loyalty and devotion to King James, but had actually gone so far as +to beg that he might be allowed to prove that same loyalty by leading +the soldiers to the capture of those self-confessed traitors, Mr. +Wilding and Mr. Trenchard. From his knowledge of their haunts he was +confident, he assured Colonel Luttrell, that he could be of service +to the King in this matter. The fierce sincerity of his purpose shone +through his words; Luttrell caught the accent of hate in Sir Rowland's +tense voice, and, being a shrewd man, he saw that if Mr. Wilding was to +be taken, an enemy would surely be the best pursuer to accomplish it. So +he prevailed, and gave him the trust he sought, in spite of Albemarle's +expressed reluctance. And never did bloodhound set out more relentlessly +purposeful upon a scent than did Sir Rowland follow now in what he +believed to be the track of this man who stood between him and Ruth +Westmacott. Until Ruth was widowed, Sir Rowland's hopes of her must lie +fallow; and so it was with a zest that he flung himself into the task of +widowing 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 and +to lay before him, for his enucleation, the problem of Blake's being the +leader of it. But Wilding thought little of Blake, and cared little of +what he might be the leader. + +“We'll stay here,” said he, “until they have passed the crest of the +hill.” + +This, Trenchard told him, was his own purpose; for to leave their +concealment earlier would be to reveal themselves to any of the troopers +who might happen to glance over his shoulder. + +And so they waited some ten minutes or so, and then walked their horses +slowly and carefully forward through the trees towards the road. Wilding +was alongside and slightly ahead of Trenchard; Vallancey followed close +upon their tails. Suddenly, as Wilding was about to put his mare at the +low 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 at +hand; the crackling of undergrowth and the rustle of the leaves through +which they had thrust their passage had deafened their ears to other +sounds until this moment. They checked and waited where they stood, +barely screened by the few boughs that still might intervene between +them and the open, not daring to advance, and not daring to retreat +lest their movements should draw attention to themselves. They remained +absolutely still, scarcely breathing, their only hope being that if +these who came should chance to be enemies they might ride on without +looking to right or left. It was so slender a hope that Wilding looked +to the priming of his pistols, whilst Trenchard, who had none, loosened +his sword in its scabbard. Nearer came the riders. + +“There are not more than three,” whispered Trenchard, who had been +listening intently, and Mr. Wilding nodded, but said nothing. + +Another moment and the little party was abreast of those watchers; a +dark brown riding-habit flashed into their line of vision, and a +blue one laced with gold. At sight of the first Mr. Wilding's eyelids +flickered; he had recognized it for Ruth's, with whom rode Diana, +whilst some twenty paces or so behind came Jerry, the groom. They were +returning to Bridgwater. + +They came along, looking neither to right nor to left, as the three men +had hoped they would, and they were all but past, when suddenly Wilding +gave his roan a touch of the spur and bounded forward. Diana's horse +swerved so that it nearly threw her. Ruth, slightly ahead, reined in at +once; so, too, did the groom in the rear, and so violently in his sudden +fear of highwaymen that he brought his horse on to its hind legs and had +it prancing and rearing madly about the road, so that he was hard put to +it 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 her +surprise at seeing him, and there echoed through her words a note of +genuine gladness that almost disconcerted her husband for a moment. The +next instant a crimson flush overspread her pale face, and her eyes were +veiled from him, vexation in her heart at having betrayed the lively +satisfaction it afforded her to see him safe when she feared him +captured already or at least upon the point of capture. + +She had admired him almost unconsciously for his daring at the town hall +that day, when his strong calm had stood out in such sharp contrast to +the fluster and excitement of the men about him; of them all, indeed, it +had 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 proud +of him. Then again the thing he had done. He had come deliberately to +thrust his head into the lion's maw that he might save her brother. It +was possible that he had done it in answer to the entreaties which she +had earlier feared she had poured into deaf ears; or it was possible +that he had done it spurred by his sense of right and justice, which +would not permit him to allow another to suffer in his stead--however +much that other might be caught in the very toils that he had prepared +for Mr. Wilding himself. Her admiration, then, was swelled by gratitude, +and it was a compound of these that had urged her to hinder the +tything-men from winning past her until he and Trenchard should have got +well away. + +Afterwards, when with Diana and her groom--on a horse which Sir Edward +Phelips insisted upon lending them--she rode homeward from Taunton, +there was Diana to keep alive the spark of kindness that glowed at last +for Wilding in Ruth's breast. Miss Horton extolled his bravery, his +chivalry, his nobility, and ended by expressing her envy of Ruth that +she should have won such a man amongst men for her husband, and wondered +what it might be that kept Ruth from claiming him for her own as was +her 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 yet +she would now have welcomed an opportunity of thanking him for what he +had done, of expressing to him something of the respect he had won +in her eyes by his act of self-denunciation to save her brother. This +chance, it seemed, was given her, for there he stood, with head bared +before her; and already she thought no longer of seizing the chance, +vexed as she was at having been surprised into a betrayal of feelings +whose warmth she had until that moment scarce estimated. + +In answer to her cry of “You have eluded them!” he waved a hand towards +the rising ground and the road to Bridgwater. + +“They passed that way but a few moments since,” said he, “and by the +rate 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 so +close 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 of +all patience with her. “Come, Jerry,” Diana called to the groom. “We +will walk our horses up the hill.” + +“You are very good, madam,” said Mr. Wilding, and he bowed to the +withers of his roan. + +Ruth said nothing; expressed neither approval nor disapproval of Diana's +withdrawal, and the latter, with a word of greeting to Wilding, went +ahead followed by Jerry, who had regained control by now of the beast +he bestrode. Wilding watched them until they turned the corner, then he +walked his mare slowly forward until he was alongside Ruth. + +“Before I go,” said he, “there is something I should like to say.” His +dark eyes were sombre, his manner betrayed some hesitation. + +The diffidence of his tone proved startling to her by virtue of its +unusualness. What might it portend, she wondered, and sought with grave +eyes to read his baffling countenance; and then a wild alarm swept into +her and shook her spirit in its grip; there was something of which until +this moment she had not thought--something connected with the fateful +matter of that letter. It had stood as a barrier between them, her +buckler, her sole defence against him. It had been to her what its +sting is to the bee--a thing which if once used in self-defence is +self-destructive. Not, indeed, that she had used it as her sting; it had +been forced from her by the machinations of Trenchard; but used it had +been, and was done with; she had it no longer that with it she might +hold him in defiance, and it did not occur to her that he was no longer +in case to invoke the law. + +Her face grew stony, a dry glitter came to her blue eyes; she cast a +glance over her shoulder at Diana and her servant. Wilding observed +it and read what was passing in her mind; indeed, it was not to be +mistaken, no more than what is passing in the mind of the recruit who +looks 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 companions +lurking in the thicket and cared not to have them for his audience, he +suggested they should go a little way in the direction her cousin had +taken. She wheeled her horse, and, side by side, they ambled up the +dusty 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 urged +partly by her newborn fears, partly to counterbalance such impression +as her illjudged show of gladness at his safety might have made upon his +mind. He flashed her a sidelong glance, the long white fingers of his +right hand toying thoughtfully with a ringlet of the dark brown hair +that fell upon the shoulders of his scarlet coat. + +“Surely, madam,” he answered dryly, “what concerns a man may well +concern 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 or +two, then came to a halt, apparently of its own accord. + +“I do protest,” said he, “you treat me less kindly than I deserve.” He +urged his mare forward until he had come up with her again, and +then drew rein once more. “I think that I may lay some claim to--at +least--your gratitude for what I did to-day.” + +“It is my inclination to be grateful,” said she. She was very wary of +him. “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 that +you came?” + +“Unless you think that it was to save Blake,” he said ironically. “What +other 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 two +reasons; because you asked me, and because I would have no innocent men +suffer in my stead--not even though, as these men, they were but caught +in 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 thought +of 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, as +will no doubt a price be set on mine when Albemarle's messenger shall +have reached Whitehall? Is it not ruin to have my lands and all I +own made forfeit to the State, to find myself a beggar, hunted and +proscribed? Forgive me that I harass you with this catalogue of my +misfortunes. You'll say, no doubt, that I have brought them upon myself +by compelling you against your will to marry me. + +“I'll not deny that it is in my mind,” said she, and of set purpose +stifled pity. + +He sighed and looked at her again, but she would not meet his eye, else +its whimsical expression might have intrigued her. “Can you deny my +magnanimity, I wonder?” said he, and spoke almost as one amused. “All I +had I sacrificed to do your will, to save your brother from the snare +of his own contriving against me. I wonder do you yet realize how much +I sacrificed to-day at Taunton! I wonder!” And he paused, looking at her +and 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 pretence +of kindness.” She was looking at him at last, her eyes less hard. They +seemed to ask him to explain. “When you came this morning with the +tale of how the tables had been turned upon your brother, of how he +was caught in his own springe, and the letter found in his keeping was +before the King's folk at Taunton with every appearance of having been +addressed to him, and not a tittle of evidence to show that it had been +meant for me, do you know what news it was you brought me?” He paused +a second, looking at her from narrowing eyes. Then he answered his own +question. “You brought me the news that you were mine to take whensoe'er +I pleased. Whilst that letter was in your hands it gave you the power to +make me your obedient slave. You might blow upon me as you listed whilst +you held it, and I was a vane that must turn to your blowing for my +honour's sake and for the sake of the cause in which I worked. Through +no rashness of mine must that letter come into the hands of the King's +friends, else was I dishonoured. It was an effective barrier between us. +So long as you possessed that letter you might pipe as you pleased, and +I must dance to the tune you set. And then this morning what you came to +tell 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, and +your brother and Sir Rowland might have hanged on the rope of their own +weaving.” + +She looked at him in a startled, almost shamefaced manner. This was an +aspect of the case she had not considered. + +“You realize it, I see,” he said, and smiled wistfully. “Then perhaps +you realize why you found me so unwilling to do the thing you craved. +Having treated me ungenerously, you came to cast yourself upon my +generosity, asking me--though I scarcely think you understood--to beggar +myself of life itself with all it held for me. God knows I make no +pretence to virtue, and yet I think I had been something more than human +had I not refused you and the bargain you offered--a bargain that you +would 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 broke +from her. “I swear I had not thought of that. I was all distraught for +poor Richard's sake. Oh, Mr. Wilding,” she turned to him, holding out a +hand; her eyes shone, filmed with moisture, “I shall have a kindness +for you... all my days for your... generosity to-day.” It was lamentably +weak, far from the hot expressions which she forced it to replace. + +“Yes, I was generous,” he admitted. “We will move on as far as the +cross-roads.” Again they ambled gently forward. Up the slope from the +ford Diana and Jerry were slowly climbing; not another human being was +in sight ahead or behind them. “After you left me,” he continued, “your +memory and your entreaties lingered with me. I gave the matter of our +position 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 +master of me. But 'neath your disdain it was transmuted oddly.” He +checked the passion that was vibrating in his voice and resumed after +a pause, in the calm, slow tones, soft and musical, that were his own. +“There is scarce the need for so much recapitulation. When the power +was mine I bent you unfairly to my will; you did as much by me when +the power suddenly became yours. It was a strange war between us, and I +accepted its conditions. To-day, when the power was mine again, mine +to bring you at last to subjection, behold, I have capitulated at +your bidding, and all that I held--including your own self--have I +relinquished. It is perhaps fitting. Haply I am punished for having wed +you before I had wooed you.” Again his tone changed, it grew more cold, +more matter-of-fact. “I rode this way a little while ago a hunted man, +my only hope to reach home and collect what moneys and valuables I could +carry, and make for the coast to find a vessel bound for Holland. I +have been engaged, as you know, in stirring up rebellion to check the +iniquities and persecutions that are toward in a land I love. I'll not +weary you with details. Time was needed for this as for all things, and +by next spring, perhaps, had matters gone well, this vineyard that so +carefully and secretly I have been tending, would have been, maybe, in +condition to bear fruit. Even now, in the hour of my flight, I learn +that others have come to force this delicate growth into sudden +maturity. There! Soon ripe, soon rotten. The Duke of Monmouth has landed +at Lyme this morning. I am riding to him.” + +“To what end?” she cried, and he saw in her face a dismay that amounted +almost to fear, and he wondered was it for him. + +“To place my sword at his service. Were I not encompassed by this +ruin, I should not have stirred a foot in that direction--so rash, so +foredoomed to failure is this invasion. As it is,”--he shrugged and +laughed--“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 bonds +of 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 the +first 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 in +self-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 you +imagine that I have talked so much? To the end that I might show you +that 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 have +your 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, your +cousin grows weary, and I have a couple of comrades who are no doubt +impatient 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 have +done you for which there is but one amend to make.” He paused. He +steadied himself before continuing. In his attempt to render his voice +cold and commonplace he went near to achieving harshness. “It may be +that this crackbrained rebellion of which the torch is already alight +will, 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 I +did 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 force +it.” He smiled ever so wanly. “Perhaps that was my mistake. It is an +ill thing to eat one's hay while it is grass.” He raised to his lips the +little 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 she +achieved. Had he caught her to him in that moment there is little doubt +but that she had yielded. Perhaps he knew it; and knowing it kept the +tighter rein upon desire. She was as metal molten in the crucible, to be +moulded by his craftsman's hands into any pattern that he chose. But the +crucible 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 his +friends awaited him. As he left her, she too wheeled about, as if to +follow him. She strove to command her voice that she might recall him; +but at that same moment Trenchard, hearing his returning hoofs, thrust +out into the road with Vallancey following at his heels. The old +player's harsh voice reached her where she stood, and it was querulous +with impatience. + +“What a plague do you mean, dallying here at such a time, Anthony?” he +cried, 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 horse +once 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 companions +descended to Uplyme Common from the heights whence as they rode they had +commanded a clear view of the fair valley of the Axe, lying now under a +thin opalescent veil of evening mist. + +They had paused at Ilminster for fresh horses, and there Wilding had +paid a visit to one of his agents from whom he had procured a hundred +guineas. Thence they had come south at a sharp pace, and with little +said. Wilding was moody and thoughtful, filled with chagrin at this +unconscionable rashness of the man upon whom all his hopes were centred. +As they cantered briskly across Uplyme Common in the twilight they +passed several bodies of countrymen, all heading for the town, and one +group sent up a shout of “God save the Protestant Duke!” as they rode +past him. + +“Amen to that,” muttered Mr. Wilding grimly, “for I am afraid that no +man can.” + +In the narrow lane by Hay Farm a horseman, going in the opposite +direction, passed them at the gallop; but they had met several such +since leaving Ilminster, for indeed the news was spreading fast, and the +whole countryside was alive with messengers, some on foot and some on +horseback, but all hurrying as if their lives depended on their haste. + +They made their way to the Market-Place where Monmouth's +declaration--that remarkable manifesto from the pen of Ferguson--had +been read some hours before. Thence, having ascertained where His Grace +was lodged, they made their way to the George Inn. + +In Coombe Street they found the crowd so dense that they could but with +difficulty 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 the +cries of “A Monmouth! A Monmouth! The Protestant Religion! Religion and +Liberty,” which latter were the words inscribed on the standard Monmouth +had set up that evening on the Church Cliffs. + +In truth, Wilding was amazed at what he saw, and said as much to +Trenchard. So pessimistic had been his outlook that he had almost +expected to find the rebellion snuffed out by the time they reached +Lyme-of-the-King. What had the authorities been about that they had +permitted Monmouth to come ashore, or had Vallancey's information been +wrong in the matter of the numbers that accompanied the Protestant +Champion? Wilding's red coat attracted some attention. In the dusk its +colour was almost all that could be discerned of it. + +“Here's a militia captain for the Duke!” cried one, and others took up +the cry, and if it did nothing else it opened a way for them through +that solid human mass and permitted them to win through to the yard of +the George Inn. They found the spacious quadrangle thronged with men, +armed and unarmed, and on the steps stood a tall, well-knit, soldierly +man, his hat rakishly cocked, about whom a crowd of townsmen and +country fellows were pressing with insistence. At a glance Mr. Wilding +recognized Captain Venner--raised to the rank of colonel by Monmouth on +the 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 himself +free 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 going +with him to see that he performed this last duty as a stable-boy ere he +too became a champion militant of the Protestant Cause. Trenchard sped +after Wilding, who was elbowing his way through the yokels about the +steps. The glare of a newly lighted lamp from the doorway fell full upon +his long white face as he advanced, and Venner espied and recognized +him. + +“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 during +the past few hours since the Declaration had been read, this was the +first gentleman that arrived to welcome Monmouth. The soldier stretched +out a hand to grasp the newcomer's. “His Grace will see you this +instant, 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 Venner +delivered Wilding and Trenchard that he might announce them to His +Grace. + +In the room that had been set apart for him abovestairs, Monmouth still +sat at table. He had just supped, with but an indifferent appetite, +so fevered was he by the events of his landing. He was excited with +hope--inspired by the readiness with which the men of Lyme and its +neighbourhood had flocked to his banner--and fretted by anxiety that +none of the gentry of the vicinity should yet have followed the example +of the meaner folk, in answer to the messages dispatched at dawn from +Seaton. The board at which he sat was still cumbered with some glasses +and platters and vestiges of his repast. Below him on his right sat +Ferguson--that prince of plotters--very busy with pen and ink, his keen +face almost hidden by his great periwig; opposite were Lord Grey, of +Werke, and Andrew Fletcher, of Saltoun, whilst, standing at the foot of +the table barely within the circle of candlelight from the branch on the +polished oak, was Nathaniel Wade, the lawyer, who had fled to Holland +on account of his alleged complicity in the Rye House plot and was now +returned 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 from +his belt, he had little the air of a man whose methods of contention +were forensic. + +“You understand, then, Major Wade,” His Grace was saying, his voice +pleasant and musical. “It is decided that the guns had best be got +ashore forthwith and mounted.” + +Wade bowed. “I shall set about it at once, Your Grace. I shall not want +for help. Have I Your Grace's leave to go?” + +Monmouth nodded, and as Wade passed out, Ensign Cragg entered to +announce Mr. Wilding and Mr. Trenchard. The Duke rose to his feet, his +glance suddenly brightening. Fletcher and Grey rose with him; Ferguson +paid 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 Duke +sprang to meet him, a tall young figure, lithe and slender as a blade of +steel, and of a steely strength for all his slimness. He was dressed in +a suit of purple that became him marvellously well, and on his breast a +star of diamonds flashed and smouldered like a thing of fire. He was +of an exceeding beauty of face, wherein he mainly favoured that “bold, +handsome woman” that was his mother, without, however, any of his +mother's insipidity; fine eyes, a good nose, straight and slender, and +a mouth which, if sensual and indicating a lack of strength, was +beautifully shaped. His chin was slightly cleft, the shape of his face +a delicate oval, framed now in the waving masses of his brown wig. Some +likeness 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, as +he took Wilding's hand and shook it heartily before Wilding had time to +kiss His Grace's. + +“You are late,” he said, but there was no reproach in his voice. “We had +looked 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, whilst +even Ferguson paused in his writing to raise his piercing eyes and +listen. + +“It is no matter,” Wilding reassured him. “Although stolen, it has but +gone to Whitehall to-day, when it can add little to the news that is +already on its way there.” + +The Duke laughed softly, with a flash of white teeth, and looked past +Wilding at Trenchard. Some of the light faded out of his eyes. “They +told me Mr. Trenchard...” he began, when Wilding, half turning to his +friend, explained. + +“This is Mr. Nicholas Trenchard--John Trenchard's cousin. + +“I bid you welcome, sir,” said the Duke, very agreeably, “and I trust +your cousin follows you.” + +“Alas,” said Trenchard, “my cousin is in France,” and in a few brief +words he related the matter of John Trenchard's home-coming on his +acquittal and the trouble there had been connected with it. + +The Duke received the news in silence. He had expected good support from +old 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 a +turn in the room deep in thought, and there was a pause until Ferguson, +rubbing his great Roman nose, asked suddenly had Mr. Wilding seen the +Declaration. Mr. Wilding had not, and thereupon the plotting parson, who +was 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 had +other things to discuss with Mr. Wilding. + +This the Duke himself confirmed, stating that there were matters on +which he would be glad to have their opinion. + +He invited the newcomers to draw chairs to the table; glasses were +called for, and a couple of fresh bottles of Canary went round the +board. The talk was desultory for a few moments, whilst Wilding and +Trenchard washed the dust from their throats; then Monmouth broke the +ice by asking them bluntly what they thought of his coming thus, earlier +than was at first agreed. + +Wilding never hesitated in his reply. “Frankly, Your Grace,” said he, “I +like it not at all.” + +Fletcher looked up sharply, his clear intelligent eyes full upon +Wilding's calm face, his countenance expressing as little as did +Wilding's. Ferguson seemed slightly taken aback. Grey's thick lips were +twisted in a sneering smile. + +“Faith,” said the latter with elaborate sarcasm, “in that case it only +remains for us to ship again, heave anchor, and back to Holland.” + +“It is what I should advise,” said Wilding slowly and quietly, “if I +thought there was a chance of my advice being taken.” He had a calm, +almost apathetic way of uttering startling things which rendered them +doubly startling. The sneer seemed to freeze on Lord Grey's lips; +Fletcher continued to stare, but his eyes had grown more round; Ferguson +scowled darkly. The Duke's boyish face--it was still very youthful +despite his six-and-thirty years--expressed a wondering consternation. +He looked at Wilding, and from Wilding to the others, and his glance +seemed to entreat them to suggest an answer to him. It was Grey at last +who took the matter up. + +“You shall explain your meaning, sir, or we must hold you a traitor,” he +exclaimed. + +“King James does that already,” answered Wilding with a quiet smile. + +“D'ye mean the Duke of York?” rumbled Ferguson's Scottish accent with +startling suddenness, and Monmouth nodded approval of the correction. +“If ye mean that bloody papist and fratricide, it were well so to speak +of him. Had ye read the Declaration...” + +But Fletcher cropped his speech in mid-growth. He was ever a +short-tempered man, intolerant of irrelevancies. + +“It were well, perhaps,” said he, his accent abundantly proclaiming him +a 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 fancies +may exist, for giving advice which is hardly worthy of the cause to +which he stands committed.” + +“Aye, Fletcher,” said Monmouth, “there is sense in you. Tell us what is +in 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 the +Duke, the nostrils of his heavy nose dilating. “Are we to listen to this +milksop prattle?” + +Nick Trenchard, who had hitherto been silent, cleared his throat so +noisily that he drew all eyes to himself. + +“Your Grace,” Mr. Wilding pursued, his air calm and dignified, and +gathering more dignity from the circumstance that he proceeded as if +there had been no interruption, “when I had the honour of conferring +with you at The Hague two months ago, it was agreed that you should +spend the summer in Sweden--away from politics and scheming, leaving +the work of preparation to your accredited agents here. That work I have +been slowly but surely pushing forward. It was not to be hurried; men of +position are not to be won over in a day; men with anything to lose need +some guarantee that they are not wantonly casting their possessions to +the winds. By next spring, as was agreed, all would have been ready. +Delay could not have hurt you. Indeed, with every day by which you +delayed your coming you did good service to your cause, you strengthened +its prospects of success; for every day the people's burden of +oppression and persecution grows more heavy, and the people's temper +more short; every day, by the methods that he is pursuing, King James +brings himself into deeper hatred. This hatred is spreading. It was +the business of myself and those others to help it on, until from the +cottage of the ploughman the infection of anger should have spread +to the mansion of the squire. Had Your Grace but given me time, as +I entreated you, and as you promised me, you might have marched to +Whitehall with scarce the shedding of a drop of blood; had Your Grace +but waited until we were ready, England would have so trembled at your +landing that your uncle's throne would have toppled over 'neath the +shock. As it is...” He shrugged his shoulders, sighed and spread his +hands, leaving his sentence uncompleted. + +Monmouth sat sobered by these sober words; the intoxication that had +come to him from the little measure of success that had attended the +opening of the listing on Church Cliffs, deserted him now; he saw the +thing stark and in its true proportions, and not even the shouting of +the folk in the streets below, crying his name and acclaiming him their +champion, served to lighten the gloom that Wilding's words cast like +a cloud over his volatile heart. Alas, poor Monmouth! He was ever a +weathercock, and even as Wilding's words seemed to strike the courage +out 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 after +a 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 we +go forth,” boomed the voice of Ferguson, quoting from his precious +Declaration. “The Lord will do that which seemeth good unto Him.” + +“An unanswerable argument,” said Wilding, smiling. “But the Lord, I am +told by the gentlemen of your cloth, works in His own good time, and my +fears are all lest, finding us unprepared of ourselves, the Lord's good +time be not yet.” + +“Out on ye, sir,” cried Ferguson. “Ye want for reverence!” + +“Common sense will serve us better at the moment,” answered Wilding +with a touch of sharpness. He turned to the frowning and perplexed +Duke--whose mind was being tossed this way and that, like a shuttlecock +upon 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 it +if 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 to +ourselves.” + +“I thank Your Grace. What I have to say is but a repetition of the +first words I uttered at this table. I would urge Your Grace even now to +retreat.” + +“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 it +were the safer course--the surer in the end. I myself may not linger +to push forward the task of stirring up the people, for I am already +something more than under suspicion. But there are others who will +remain to carry on the work after I have departed with Your Grace, if +Your Grace thinks well. From the Continent by correspondence we can +mature our plans. In a twelvemonth things will be very different, and we +can 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 elbow +on the table and took his brow in his great bony hand. Wilding's words +seemed an echo of those he himself had spoken a week or two ago, only to +be overruled by Grey, who swayed the Duke more than did any other--and +that he did not do so of fell purpose, and seeking deliberately to work +Monmouth's ruin, no man will ever be able to say with certainty. + +Ferguson rose, a tall, spare, stooping figure, and smote the board with +his fist. “It is a good cause,” he cried, “and God will not leave us +unless we leave Him.” + +“Henry the Seventh landed with fewer men than did Your Grace,” said +Grey, “and he succeeded.” + +“True,” put in Fletcher. “But Henry the Seventh was sure of the support +of 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 be +swayed 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, and +Captain Matthews with me, before we embarked upon this expedition. We +were 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 man +to draw back, nor do I go so far as Mr. Wilding in counselling such a +course. We've set our hands to the plough; let us go forward in God's +name. Yet I would remind you that what Mr. Wilding says is true. Had +we waited until next year, we had found the usurper's throne tottering +under 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,” Grey +answered. + +“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 at +him. + +“I am seldom of any other,” answered Trenchard. + +“We shall no' want for hands,” Ferguson assured him. “Had ye arrived +earlier ye might have seen how readily men enlisted.” He had risen and +approached the window as he spoke; he pulled it open, to let in the full +volume of sound that rose from the street below. + +“A Monmouth! A Monmouth!” voices shouted. + +Ferguson struck a theatrical posture, one long, lean arm stretched +outward from the shoulder. + +“Ye hear them, sirs,” he cried, and there was a gleam of triumph in his +eye. “That is answer enough to those who want for faith, to the feckless +ones that think the Lord will abandon those that have set out to serve +Him,” and his glance comprehended Fletcher, Trenchard, and Wilding. + +The Duke stirred in his chair, stretched a hand for the bottle and +filled a glass. His mercurial spirits were rising again. He smiled at +Wilding. + +“I think you are answered, sir,” said he; “and I hope that like Fletcher +there, who shared your doubts, you will come to agree that since we have +set our hands to the plough we must go forward.” + +“I have said that which I had it on my conscience to say. Your Grace may +have found me over-ready with my counsel; at least you shall find me no +less ready with my sword.” + +“Odso! That is better.” Grey applauded, and his manner was almost +pleasant. + +“I never doubted it, Mr. Wilding,” His Grace replied; “but I should like +to hear you say that you are convinced--at least in part,” and he +waved his hand towards the window. It was almost as if he pleaded for +encouragement. 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 was +hidden under that calm surface, and the acuteness of the judgment that +must be wedded to it. He longed to have the word of such a man that his +enterprise was not as desperate as Wilding had seemed at first to paint +it. But Wilding made no concession to hopes or desires when he dealt +with facts. + +“Men will flock to you, no doubt; persecution has wearied many of the +country-folk, and they are ready for revolt. But they are all untrained +in arms; they are rustics, not soldiers. If any of the men of position +were to rally round your standard they would bring the militia, and +others in their train; they would bring arms, horses, and money, all of +which Your Grace must be sorely needing.” + +“They will come,” answered the Duke. + +“Some, no doubt,” Wilding agreed; “but had it been next year, I would +have answered for it that it would have been no handful had ridden in +to welcome you. Scarce a gentleman of Devon or Somerset, of Dorset or +Hampshire, of Wiltshire or Cheshire but would have hastened to your +side.” + +“They will come as it is,” the Duke repeated with an almost womanish +insistence, persisting in believing what he hoped, all evidence apart. + +The door opened and Ensign Cragg made his appearance. “May it please +Your Grace,” he announced, “Mr. Battiscomb has just arrived, and asks +will Your Grace receive him to-night?” + +“Battiscomb!” cried the Duke. Again his cheek flushed and his eye +sparkled. “Aye, in Heaven's name, show him up.” + +“And may the Lord refresh us with good tidings!” prayed Ferguson +devoutly. + +Monmouth turned to Wilding. “It is the agent I sent ahead of me from +Holland 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's +presence. He was dressed in black, and, like Ferguson, was almost +smothered in a great periwig, which he may have adopted for purposes of +disguise rather than adornment. Certainly he had none of that air of +the soldier of fortune which distinguished his brother of the robe. He +advanced, hat in hand, towards the table, greeting the company about it, +and Wilding observed that he wore silk stockings and shoes, upon which +there rested not a speck of dust. Mr. Battiscomb was plainly a man who +loved 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 formal +homage paid than questions poured upon him from Grey, from Fletcher, and +from Ferguson. + +“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” the Duke entreated them, smiling; and +remembering their manners they fell silent. + +As Wilding afterwards told Trenchard, they reminded him of a parcel of +saucy lacqueys who take liberties with an upstart master for whom they +are wanting in respect. + +“I am glad to see you, Battiscomb,” said Monmouth, when quiet was +restored, “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 that +expressed neither mirth nor satisfaction. He cleared his throat, as if +nervous. He avoided the Duke's question as to the quality of the news +he brought by answering that he had made all haste to come to Lyme upon +hearing of His Grace's landing. He was surprised, he said; as well he +might be, for the arrangement was that having done his work he was to +return to Holland and report to Monmouth upon the feeling of the gentry. + +“But your news, Battiscomb,” the Duke insisted. “Aye,” put in Grey; “in +Heaven's name, let us hear that.” + +Again there was the little nervous cough from Battiscomb. “I have scarce +had time to complete my round of visits,” he temporized. “Your Grace +has taken us so by surprise. I... I was with Sir Walter Young at Colyton +when the news of your landing came some few hours ago.” His voice +faltered and seemed to die away. + +“Well?” cried the Duke. His brows were drawn together. Already he +realized that Battiscomb's tidings were not good, else would he be +hesitating 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 an +oath. “Why not?” + +“He is following, no doubt?” suggested Fletcher. + +“We may hope, sirs,” answered Battiscomb, “that in a few days--when he +shall have seen the zeal of the countryside--he will be cured of his +present luke-warmness.” Thus, discreetly, did the man of law break the +bad news he bore. + +Monmouth sank back into his chair like one who has lost some of +his strength. “Lukewarmness?” he repeated dully. “Sir Walter Young +lukewarm!” + +“Even so, Your Grace--alas!” and Battiscomb sighed audibly. + +Ferguson's voice boomed forth again to startle them. “The ox knoweth his +owner,” 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 question +Battiscomb touching others of the neighbourhood upon whom they had +depended. + +“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 leg +over 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 at +the 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 made +answer, “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 his +head slowly, sadly. “You must not depend upon him,” he answered; “Lord +Gervase was not yet ripe. A little longer and I think I must have won +him for Your Grace.” + +“Heaven help us!” exclaimed the Duke in petulant vexation. “Is no one +coming in?” + +Ferguson swung a hand towards the still open window, drawing attention +to the sounds without. + +“Does Your Grace not hear, that ye can ask?” he cried, almost +reproachfully; but they scarce heeded him, for Grey was inquiring if +Mr. Strode might be depended upon to join, and that was a matter that +claimed the greater attention. + +“I think,” said Battiscomb, “that he might have been depended upon.” + +“Might have been?” questioned Fletcher, speaking now for the first time +since Battiscomb's arrival. + +“Like Sir Francis Rolles, he is in prison,” the lawyer explained. + +Monmouth leaned forward, and his young face looked careworn now; he +thrust a slender hand under the brown curls upon his brow. “Will you +tell 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 upon +Colonel Churchill, though I cannot say what following they will bring, +if any. Mr. Trenchard, upon whom we counted for fifteen hundred men of +Taunton, 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 was +favourably disposed to Your Grace.” + +His Grace made a gesture that seemed to dismiss Prideaux from their +calculations. “And Mr. Hucker, of Taunton?” + +Battiscomb's manner grew yet more ill at ease. “Mr. Hucker himself, I +am sure, would place his sword at your disposal. But his brother is a +red-hot Tory.” + +“Well, well,” sighed the Duke, “I take it we must not make certain of +Mr. Hucker. Are there any others besides Legge and Hooper upon whom you +think that we may reckon?” + +“Lord Wiltshire, perhaps,” said Battiscomb, but with a lack of +assurance. + +“A plague on perhaps!” exclaimed Monmouth, growing irritable; “I want +you to name the men of whom you are certain.” + +Battiscomb stood silent for a moment, pondering. He looked almost +foolish, like a schoolboy who hesitates to confess his ignorance of the +answer to a question set him. + +Fletcher swung round, his grey eyes flashing angrily, his accent more +Scottish 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 only +representatives of the flower of England's nobility that is to flock to +the banner of the cause of England's freedom and religion?” Scorn was +stamped 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 told +Your Grace yours was hardly the case of Henry the Seventh, as my Lord +Grey would have you believe.” + +“We shall see,” snapped Grey, scowling at the Scot. “The people are +coming in hundreds--aye, in thousands--the gentry will follow; they +must.” + +“Make not too sure, Your Grace--oh, make not too sure,” Wilding besought +the Duke. “As I have said, these hinds have nothing to lose but their +lives.” + +“Faith, can a man lose more?” asked Grey contemptuously. He disliked +Wilding by instinct, which was but a reciprocation of the feeling with +which Wilding was inspired by him. + +“I think he can,” said Mr. Wilding quietly. “A man may lose honour, he +may plunge his family into ruin. These are things of more weight with a +gentleman than life.” + +“Odds death!” blazed Grey, giving a free rein to his dislike of this +calm gentleman. “Do you suggest that a man's honour is imperilled in His +Grace'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 not +see me at this table now. I can make you no more convincing answer.” + +Grey laughed unpleasantly, and Wilding, a faint tinge on his +cheek-bones, measured him with a stern, intrepid look before which his +lordship's shifty glance was observed to fall. Wilding's eye, having +achieved that much, passed from him to the Duke, and its expression +softened. + +“Your Grace sees,” said he, “how well founded were the fears I expressed +that your coming has been premature.” + +“In God's name, what would you have me do?” cried the Duke, and +petulance made his voice unsteady. + +Mr. Wilding rose, moved out of his habitual calm by the earnestness +that pervaded him. “It is not for me to say again what I would have Your +Grace 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 alternative +have 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-omen +that croak to affright us.” + +“Our service is the service of the Lord,” cried Ferguson, returning from +the window in the embrasure of which he had been standing; “the Lord +cannot 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 too +fast. Mr. Wilding, you will not heed his lordship.” + +“I should not be likely to do so, Your Grace,” answered Wilding, who had +resumed his seat. + +“What shall that mean?” quoth Grey, leaping to his feet. + +“Make it quite clear to him, Tony,” whispered Trenchard coaxingly; but +Mr. Wilding was not as lost as were these immediate followers of the +Duke'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 very +terms of the rebuke precluded his allowing his feelings a free rein. + +Monmouth leaned forward. “Sit down,” he said to Grey, and Grey, so +lately called to the respect he owed His Grace, obeyed him. “You will +both promise me that this affair shall go no further. I know you will +do it if I ask you, particularly when you remember how few are the +followers upon whom I may depend. I am not in case to lose either of you +through foolish words uttered in a heat which, in both your hearts, is +born, I know, of your loyalty to me.” + +Grey's coarse, elderly face took on a sulky look, his heavy lips were +pouted, his glance sullen. Mr. Wilding, on the contrary, smiled across +the 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 Lord +Grey's lips. His lordship, too, was forced to give the same pledge, and +he followed it up by inveighing sturdily against the suggestion that +they should retreat. + +“I do protest,” he exclaimed, “that those who advise Your Grace to do +anything but go forward boldly now, are evil counsellors. If you put +back to Holland, you may leave every hope behind. There will be no +second coming for you. Your influence will have been dissipated. Men +will not trust you another time. I do not think that even Mr. Wilding +can deny the truth of this.” + +“I am by no means sure,” said Wilding, and Fletcher looked at him with +eyes that were full of understanding. This sturdy Scot, the only soldier +worthy of the name in the Duke's following, who, ever since the project +had first been mooted, had held out against it, counselling delay, was +in sympathy with Mr. Wilding. + +Monmouth rose, his face anxious, his voice fretful. “There can be no +retreat for me, gentlemen. Though many that we depended upon are not +here to join us, yet let us remember that Heaven is on our side, and +that we are come to fight in the sacred cause of religion and a nation's +emancipation 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 a +paraphrase of what Grey and Ferguson had said. It was his destiny to be +a mere echo of the minds of other men, just as he was now the tool +of these two, one of whom plotted, seemingly, because plotting was a +disease that had got into his blood; the other for reasons that may have +been of ambition or of revenge--no man will ever know for certain. + +In the chamber they shared, Trenchard and Mr. Wilding reviewed that +night the scene so lately enacted, in which one had taken an active +part, the other been little more than a spectator. Trenchard had come +from the Duke's presence entirely out of conceit with Monmouth and +his cause, contemptuous of Ferguson, angry with Grey, and indifferent +towards 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!” he +railed. “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,” said +he. “I fear we have been misled.” + +Trenchard was drawing off his boots. He paused in the act. “Aye,” said +he, “misled by our blindness. What else, after all, should we have +expected of him?” he cried contemptuously. “The Cause is good; but its +leader---Pshaw! Would you have such a puppet as that on the throne of +England?” + +“He does not aim so high.” + +“Be not so sure. We shall hear more of the black box anon, and of the +marriage certificate it contains. 'Twould not surprise me if they were +to produce forgeries of the one and the other to prove his father's +marriage to Lucy Walters. Anthony, Anthony! To what a business are we +wedded?” + +Mr. Wilding, already abed, turned impatiently. “Things cried aloud to be +redressed; a leader was necessary, and none other offered. That is the +whole 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 what +Fletcher said--how he opposed it when first it was urged.” He paused, +and looked up suddenly. “Blister me!” he cried, “is it his lordship's +purpose, think you, to work the ruin of Monmouth?” + +“What are you saying, Nick?” + +“There are certain rumours current touching His Grace and Lady Grey. A +man 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 would +ask 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 that +cursed business of the letter Richard Westmacott stole from us, I should +be 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 for +suicide; 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 taste +for 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 come +in, and by evening Monmouth's forces amounted to a thousand foot and +a hundred and fifty horse. The men were armed as fast as they were +enrolled, and scarce a field or quiet avenue in the district but +resounded to the tramp of feet, the rattle of weapons, and the sharp +orders of the officers who, by drilling, were converting this raw +material into soldiers. On the Saturday the rally of the Duke's standard +was such that Monmouth threw off at last the gloomy forebodings that had +burdened his soul since that meeting on Thursday night. Wade, Holmes, +Foulkes, and Fox were able to set about forming the first four +regiments--the Duke's, and the Green, the White, and the Yellow. +Monmouth's spirits continued to rise, for he had been joined by now +by Legge and Hooper--the two upon whom Battiscomb had counted--and by +Colonel Joshua Churchill, of whom Battiscomb had been less certain. +Captain Matthews brought news that Lord Wiltshire and the gentlemen +of Hampshire might be expected if they could force their way through +Albemarle's militia, which was already closing round Lyme. + +Long before evening willing fellows were being turned away in hundreds +for lack of weapons. In spite of Monmouth's big talk on landing, and of +the rumour that had gone out, that he could arm thirty thousand men, his +stock 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 own +regiment, was loud in his scorn of this state of things; Mr. Wilding was +sad, and his depression again spread to the Duke after a few words had +passed 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 evidence +that the men composing it might easily be induced to desert to the +Duke's side. + +The suggestion was one that instantly received Mr. Wilding's heartiest +approval. It seemed to fill him suddenly with hope, and he spoke of +it, indeed, as an inspiration which, if acted upon, might yet save the +situation. The Duke was undecided as ever; he was too much troubled +weighing the chances for and against, and he would decide upon nothing +until he had consulted Grey and the others. He would summon a council +that night, he promised, and the matter should be considered. + +But that council was never to be called, for Andrew Fletcher's +association with the rebellion was drawing rapidly to its close, and +there was that to happen in the next few hours which should counteract +all the encouragement with which the Duke had been fortified that day. +Towards evening little Heywood Dare, the Taunton goldsmith, who had +landed at Seatown and gone out with the news of the Duke's arrival, rode +into Lyme with forty horse, mounted, himself, upon a beautiful charger +which was destined to be the undoing of him. + +News came, too, that the Dorset militia were at Bridport, eight miles +away, whereupon Wilding and Fletcher postponed all further suggestion of +the dash for Exeter, proposing that in the mean time a night attack upon +Bridport might result well. For once Lord Grey was in agreement with +them, and so the matter was decided. Fletcher went down to arm and +mount, and all the world knows the story of the foolish, ill-fated +quarrel which robbed Monmouth of two of his most valued adherents. +By ill-luck the Scot's eyes lighted upon the fine horse that Dare had +brought from Ford Abbey. It occurred to him that nothing could be more +fitting than that the best man should sit upon the best horse, and he +forthwith led the beast from the stables and was about to mount when +Dare 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 and +down. “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 to +earth. + +“You are making a mistake, Mr. Fletcher,” he cried angrily. “That horse +is mine.” + +Fletcher, whose temper was by no means of the most peaceful, kept +himself 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; for my own I would have you know.” And brushing +the Scot aside, he caught the bridle, and sought to wrench it from +Fletcher's hand. + +But Fletcher maintained his hold. “Softly, Mr. Dare,” said he. “Ye're +a trifle o'er true to your name, as you once told his late Majesty +yourself.” + +“Take your hands from my horse,” Dare shouted, very angry. + +Several loiterers in the yard gathered round to watch the scene, culling +diversion from it and speculating upon the conclusion it might have. One +rash young fellow offered audibly to lay ten to one that Paymaster Dare +would have the best of the argument. + +Dare overheard, and was spurred on. + +“I will, by God!” he answered. “Come, Mr. Fletcher!” And he shook the +bridle 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 the +Duke's, and I, as one o' the leaders, claim it in the Duke's service.” + +“Aye, sir,” cried an onlooker, encouraging Fletcher, and did the +mischief. It so goaded Dare to have his antagonist in this trifling +matter supported that he utterly lost his head. + +“I have said the horse is mine, and I repeat it. Let go the bridle--let +it go!” Still, Fletcher, striving hard to keep his calm, clung to the +reins. “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 in +his hand at such a time, but more unfortunate still was it that Fletcher +should have had a pistol in his belt. The Scot dropped the bridle at +last; dropped it to pluck forth the weapon. + +“Hi! I did not...” began Dare, who had stood appalled by what he had +done in the second or two that had passed since he had delivered the +blow. The rest of his sentence was drowned in the report of Fletcher's +pistol, and Dare dropped dead on the rough cobbles of the yard. + +Ferguson has left it on record--and, presumably, he had Fletcher's +word for it--that it was no part of the Scot's intent to do Mr. Dare +a mischief. He had but drawn the pistol to intimidate him into better +manners, but in his haste he accidentally pulled the trigger. + +However that may be, there was Dare as dead as the stones on which he +lay, and Fletcher with a smoking pistol in his hand. + +After that all was confusion. Fletcher was seized by those who had +witnessed the deed; there was none thought it an accident; indeed, +they were all ready enough to say that Fletcher had received excessive +provocation. He was haled to the presence of the Duke with whom +were Grey and Wilding at the time; and old Dare's son--an ensign in +Goodenough's company--came clamouring for vengeance backed by such +goodly numbers that the distraught Duke was forced to show at least the +outward seeming of it. + +Wilding, who knew the value of this Scottish soldier of fortune who had +seen so much service, strenuously urged his enlargement. It was not a +time to let the fortunes of a cause suffer through such an act as this, +deplorable though it might be. The evidence showed that Fletcher had +been provoked; he had been struck, a thing that might well justify the +anger in the heat of which he had done this thing. Grey was stolid and +silent, saying nothing either for or against the man who had divided +with him under the Duke the honours of the supreme command. + +Monmouth, white and horror-stricken, sat and listened first to +Wilding, then to Dare, and lastly to Fletcher himself. But it was young +Dare--Dare and his followers, who prevailed. They were too numerous and +turbulent, and they must at all costs be conciliated, or there was no +telling to what extremes they might not go. And so there was an end to +the share of Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun in this undertaking--the end of +the only man who was of any capacity to pilot it through the troubled +waters that lay before it. Monmouth placed him under arrest and sent him +aboard the frigate again, ordering her captain to sail at once. That was +the utmost Monmouth could do to save him. + +Wilding continued to plead with the Duke after Fletcher's removal, and +to such good purpose that at last Monmouth determined that Fletcher +should rejoin them later, when the affair should have blown over, and +he sent word accordingly to the Scot. Even in this there were +manifestations of antagonism between Mr. Wilding and Lord Grey, and it +almost seemed enough that Wilding should suggest a course for Lord Grey +instantly to oppose it. + +The effects of Fletcher's removal were not long in following. On the +morrow came the Bridport affair, and Grey's shameful conduct when, had +he stood his ground, victory must have been assured the Duke's forces +instead of just that honourable retreat by which Colonel Wade so +gallantly saved the situation. Mr. Wilding did not mince his words in +putting it that Grey had run away. + +In his room at the George Inn, Monmouth, deeply distressed, asked +Wilding and Colonel Matthews what action he should take in the +matter--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's +hesitation that His Grace's course was plain. + +“It would be an unwise thing to expose the troops to the chance of more +such happenings.” + +Monmouth dismissed them and sent for Grey, and he seemed resolved to +deal with him as he deserved. Yet an hour later, when Wilding, Matthews, +Wade, and the others were ordered to attend the Duke in council, there +was his lordship seemingly on as good terms as ever with His Grace. + +They were assembled to discuss the next step which it might be advisable +to take, for the militia was closing in around them, and to remain +longer in Lyme would be to be caught there as in a trap. It was Grey +who advanced the first suggestion, his assurance no whit abated by +the shameful thing that had befallen, by the cowardice which he had +betrayed. + +“That we must quit Lyme we are all agreed,” said he. “I would propose +that Your Grace march north to Gloucester, where our Cheshire friends +will assemble to meet us.” + +Colonel Matthews reminded the Duke of Andrew Fletcher's proposal that +they should make a raid upon Exeter with a view to seizing arms, of +which they stood so sorely in need. + +This Mr. Wilding was quick to support. “Not only that, Your Grace,” he +said, “but I am confident that with very little inducement the greater +portion of the militia will desert to us as soon as we appear. + +“What assurance can you give of that?” asked Grey, his heavy lip +protruded. + +“I take it,” said Mr. Wilding, “that in such matters no man can give +an assurance of anything. I speak with knowledge of the country and the +folk from which the militia is enlisted. I offer it as my opinion that +the 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 doubt +he has sound reasons upon which to base his opinion. + +“No doubt,” said Monmouth. “Indeed, I had already thought of the step +that you suggest, Colonel Matthews, and what Mr. Wilding says causes me +to look upon it still more favourably.” + +Grey frowned. “Consider, Your Grace,” he said earnestly, “that you are +in 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 militia +deserts 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 he +presently, “I do maintain that in this dash for Exeter lies Your Grace's +greatest chance of success. We can deliver battle if need be. Already we +are three thousand strong...” + +Grey interrupted him rudely. “Nay,” he insisted. “You must not presume +upon that. We are not yet fit to fight. It is His Grace's business at +present to drill and discipline his troops and induce more friends to +join him.” + +“Already we are turning men away because we have no weapons to put into +their hands,” Wilding reminded them, and a murmur of approval ran round, +which but served to anger Grey the more, to render more obstinate his +opposition. + +“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 be +troops the Parliament will send against us. They, too, will be armed, I +can assure your lordship.” + +“In God's name let us keep from wrangling,” the Duke besought them. “It +is difficult enough to determine for the best. If the dash to Exeter +were successful...” + +“It cannot be,” Grey interrupted again. + +The liberties he took with Monmouth and which Monmouth permitted him +might well be a source of wonder to all who heard them. Monmouth paused +now in his interrupted speech and looked about him a trifle wearily. + +“It seems idle to insist,” said Mr. Wilding; “such is the temper of Your +Grace's counsellors, that we get no further than contradictions.” Grey's +bold 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 desperate +enterprise a sudden unexpected movement will often strike terror.” + +“That is true,” said Monmouth, but apparently without enthusiasm, and +having approved what was urged on one side, he looked at Grey, as if +waiting to hear what might be said on the other. His indecision was +pitiful--tragical, indeed, in the leader of so bold an enterprise. + +“We should do better, I think,” said Grey, “to deal with the facts as we +know 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 put +forward 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 his +lordship's arm as if to urge him to be gentler. But he continued, “When +men 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 his +face so wicked a look. + +“And why not?” asked Grey, stupidly unsuspicious. + +“Because I had thought you might have concluded otherwise from your own +experience at Bridport this morning.” + +Grey got angrily to his feet, rage and shame flushing his face, and it +needed 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 Grace +decided there and then that they should follow Grey's advice and go by +way of Taunton, Bridgwater, and Bristol to Gloucester. He was, like all +weak men, of conspicuous mental short-sightedness. The matter of the +moment was ever of greater importance to him than any result that might +attend it in the future. + +He insisted that Wilding and Grey should shake hands before the breaking +up of that most astounding council, and as he had done last night, he +now again imposed upon them his commands that they must not allow this +matter to go further. + +Mr. Wilding paved the way for peace by making an apology within +limitations. + +“If, in my zeal to serve Your Grace to the best of my ability, I have +said that which Lord Grey thinks fit to resent, I would bid him consider +my motive rather than my actual words.” + +But when all had gone save Ferguson, the chaplain approached the +preoccupied and distressed Duke with counsel that Mr. Wilding should be +sent away from the army. + +“Else there'll be trouble 'twixt him and Grey,” the plotting parson +foretold. “We'll be having a repetition of the unfortunate Fletcher and +Dare affair, and I think that has cost Your Grace enough already.” + +“Do you suggest that I dismiss Wilding?” cried the Duke. “You know his +influence, and the bad impression his removal would leave.” + +Ferguson stroked his long lean jaw. “No, no,” said he; “all I suggest is +that 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 to +stir up your friends there. And,” he added, lowering his voice, “give +him discretion to see Sunderland if he thinks well.” + +The proposition pleased Monmouth, and it seemed to please Mr. Wilding +no less when, having sent for him, the Duke communicated it to him in +Ferguson's presence. + +Upon this mission Mr. Wilding set out that very night, leaving Nick +Trenchard in despair at being separated from him at a time when there +seemed to be every chance that such a separation might be eternal. + +Monmouth and Ferguson may have conceived they did a wise thing in +removing a man who was instinctively spoiling for a little sword-play +with my Lord Grey. It is odds that had he remained, the brewing storm +between the pair would have come to a head. Had it done so, it is more +than likely, from what we know of Mr. Wilding's accomplishments, that +he had given Lord Grey his quietus. And had that happened, it is to +be inferred from history that it is possible the Duke of Monmouth's +rebellion might have had a less disastrous issue. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. PLOTS AND PLOTTERS + +Mr. Wilding left Monmouth's army at Lyme on Sunday, the 14th of +June, and rejoined it at Bridgwater exactly three weeks later. In the +meanwhile a good deal had happened, yet the happenings on every hand had +fallen far short of the expectations aroused in Mr. Wilding's mind, +now by one circumstance, now by another. In reaching London he had +experienced no difficulty. Men travelling in that direction were not +subjected to the scrutiny that fell to the share of those travelling +from it towards the West, or, rather, to the scrutiny ordained by the +Government; for Wilding had more than one opportunity of observing +how very lax and indifferent were the constables and +tything-men--particularly in Somerset and Wiltshire--in the performance +of this duty. Wayfarers were questioned as a matter of form, but in no +case did Wilding hear of any one being detained upon suspicion. This +was calculated to raise his drooping hopes, pointing as it did to the +general favouring of Monmouth that was toward. He grew less despondent +on the score of the Duke's possible ultimate success, and he came to +hope that the efforts he went to exert would not be fruitless. + +But rude were the disappointments that awaited him in town. London, like +the rest of the country, was not ready. There were not wanting men who +favoured Monmouth; but no rising had been organized, and the Duke's +partisans were not disposed to rashness. + +Wilding lodged at Covent Garden, in a house recommended to him by +Colonel Danvers, and there--an outlaw himself--he threw himself with a +will into his task. He heard of the burning of Monmouth's Declaration by +the common hangman at the Royal Exchange, and of the bill passed by +the Commons to make it treason for any to assert that Lucy Walters was +married to the late King. He attended meetings at the “Bull's Head,” + in Bishopsgate, where he met Disney and Danvers, Payton and Lock; but +though they talked and argued at prodigious length, they did naught +besides. Danvers, who was their hope in town, definitely refused to have +a hand in anything that was not properly organized, and in common with +the others urged that they should wait until Cheshire had risen, as was +reported that it must. + +Meanwhile, troops had gone west under Kirke and Churchill, and the +Parliament had voted nearly half a million for the putting down of the +rebellion. London was flung into a fever of excitement by the news +that was reaching it. The position was not quite as Monmouth's +advisers--before coming over from Holland--had represented that it would +be. 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 he +had, sparing none to be sent against Monmouth. This, King James had not +done; he had all but emptied London of soldiery, and, considering the +general disaffection, no moment could have been more favourable than +this for a rising in London itself. The confusion that must have +resulted from the recalling of troops would have given Monmouth not +only a mighty grip of the West, but would have heartened those who--like +Sunderland himself--were sitting on the wall, to declare themselves for +the Protestant Champion. This Wilding saw, and almost frenziedly did he +urge it upon Danvers that all London needed at the moment was a resolute +leader. But the Colonel still held back; indeed, he had neither truth +nor valour; he was timid, and used deceit to mask his timidity; he urged +frivolous reasons for inaction, and when Wilding waxed impatient with +him, he suggested that Wilding himself should head the rising if he were +so confident of its success. And Wilding would have done it but that, +being unknown in London, he had no reason to suppose that men would +flock to him if he raised the Duke's banner. + +Later, when the excitement grew and rumours ran through town that +Monmouth had now a following of twenty thousand men and that the King's +forces were falling back before him, and discontent was rife at the +commissioning of Catholic lords to levy troops, Wilding again pressed +the matter upon Danvers. Surely no moment could be more propitious. +But again he received the same answer, that Danvers had lacked time to +organize matters sufficiently; that the Duke's coming had taken him by +surprise. + +Lastly came the news that Monmouth had been crowned at Taunton amid the +wildest enthusiasm, and that there were now in England two men each +of whom called himself King James the Second. This was the excuse +that Danvers needed to be rid of a business he had not the courage to +transact to a finish. He swore that he washed his hands of Monmouth's +affairs; that the latter had broken faith with him and the promise +he had made him in having himself proclaimed King. He protested that +Monmouth had done ill, and prophesied that his act would alienate from +him the numerous republicans who, like Danvers, had hitherto looked to +him for the country's salvation. Wilding himself was appalled at the +news for Monmouth was indeed going further than men had been given to +understand. Nevertheless, for his own sake, in very self-defence now, +if out of no motives of loyalty to the Duke, he must urge forward the +fortunes of this man. He had high words with Danvers, and the two might +have quarrelled before long but for the sudden arrest of Disney, which +threw Danvers into such a panic that he fled incontinently, abandoning +in body, as he already appeared to have abandoned in spirit, the +Monmouth Cause. + +The arrest of Disney struck a chill into Wilding. From his lodging at +Covent Garden he had communicated cautiously with Sunderland a few days +after his arrival, building upon certain information he had received +from the Duke at parting as to Sunderland's attachment to the Cause. He +had carefully chosen his moment for making this communication, having +a certain innate mistrust of a man who so obviously as Sunderland was +running with the hare and hunting with the hounds. He had sent a letter +to the Secretary of State when London was agog with the Axminster +affair, and the tale--of which Sir Edward Phelips wrote to Colonel +Berkeley as “the shamefullest story that you ever heard”--of how +Albemarle's forces and the Somerset militia had run before Monmouth in +spite of their own overwhelming numbers. This promised ill for James, +particularly when it was perceived as perceived it was--that this +running away was not all cowardice, not all “the shamefullest story” + that Phelips accounted it. It was an expression of good-will towards +Monmouth on the part of the militia of the West, and it was confidently +expected that the next news would be that these men who had decamped +before him would presently be found to have ranged themselves under his +banner. + +Sunderland had given no sign that he had received Wilding's +communication. And Wilding drew his own contemptuous conclusions of the +Secretary of State's cautious policy. It was a fortnight later--when +London was settling down again from the diversion of excitement created +by the news of Argyle's defeat in Scotland--before Mr. Wilding attempted +to approach Sunderland again. He awaited a favourable opportunity, and +this he had when London was thrown into consternation by the alarming +news of the Duke of Somerset's urgent demand for reinforcements. Unless +he had them, he declared, the whole country was lost, as he could not +get the militia to stand, whilst Lord Stawell's regiment were all fled +and mostly gone over to the rebels at Bridgwater. + +This was grave news, but it was followed in a few days by graver. The +affair at Philips Norton was exaggerated by report into a wholesale +defeat of the loyal army, and it was reported--on, apparently, such good +authority that it received credence in quarters that might have waited +for official news--that the Duke of Albemarle had been slain by the +militia which had mutinied and deserted to Monmouth. + +It was while this news was going round that Sunderland--in a moment of +panic--at last vouchsafed an answer to Mr. Wilding's letters, and he +vouchsafed it in person, just as Wilding--particularly since Disney's +arrest--was beginning to lose all hope. He came one evening to Mr. +Wilding's lodgings in Covent Garden, unattended and closely muffled, and +he 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's +most devoted servant. + +“You may well judge, sir,” he had said at parting, “that this is not +such a letter as I should entrust to any man.” + +Mr. Wilding had bowed gravely, and gravely he had expressed himself +sensible 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 such +measures as will ensure against its falling into any but the hands for +which it is intended.” + +“As I am a man of honour, you may depend upon me,” Mr. Wilding solemnly +promised. “Will your lordship give me three lines above your signature +that will save me from molestation; thus you will facilitate the +preservation of this letter.” + +“I had already thought of that,” was Sunderland's answer, and he placed +before Mr. Wilding three lines of writing signed and sealed which +enjoined all, straitly, in the King's name to suffer the bearer to pass +and repass and to offer him no hindrance. + +On that they shook hands and parted, Sunderland to return to Whitehall +and his obedience to the King James whom he was ready to betray as +soon as he saw profit for himself in the act, Mr. Wilding to return to +Somerset to the King James in whom his faith was scant, indeed, but with +whom his fortunes were irrevocably bound up. + +Meanwhile, Monmouth was back in Bridgwater, his second occupation +of which town was not being looked upon with unmixed favour. The +inhabitants had suffered enough already from his first visit; his return +there, after the Philips Norton affair of which such grossly exaggerated +reports had reached London, and which, in point of fact, had been little +better 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 in +this an augury of failure. + +Now Sir Rowland Blake, who since his pursuit of Mr. Wilding and +Trenchard on the occasion of their flight from Taunton had--in spite +of his failure on that occasion--been more or less in the service of +Albemarle and the loyal army, saw in this indisposition towards Monmouth +of so many of Bridgwater's inhabitants great possibilities of profit to +himself. + +He was at Lupton House, the guest of his friend Richard Westmacott, and +the open suitor of Ruth, entirely ignoring the circumstance that she was +nominally the wife of Mr. Wilding--this to the infinite chagrin of Miss +Horton, who saw all her scheming likely to go for nothing. + +In his heart of hearts it was a matter of not the slightest consequence +to Sir Rowland whether James Stuart or James Scott occupied the throne +of England. His own affairs gave him more than enough to think of, and +these disturbances in the West were very welcome to him, since they +rendered difficult any attempt to trace him on the part of his London +creditors. It happens, however, very commonly that enmity to an +individual will lead to enmity to the cause which that individual +espouses. Thus may it have been with Sir Rowland. His hatred of Wilding +and his keen desire to see Wilding destroyed had made him a zealous +partisan of the loyal cause. Richard Westmacott, easily swayed and +overborne by the town rake, whose vices made him seem to Richard the +embodiment of all that is splendid and enviable in man, had become +practically the baronet's tool, now that he had abandoned Monmouth's +Cause. Sir Rowland had not considered it beneath the dignity of his name +and station to discharge in Bridgwater certain functions that made him +more or less a spy. And so reliable had been the information he had sent +Feversham 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 who +earlier--if lukewarm--had been partisans of the Duke, swelled the number +of loyally inclined people in Bridgwater, and suddenly inspired +Sir Rowland with a scheme by which at a blow he might snuff out the +rebellion. + +This scheme involved the capture of the Duke, and the reward of success +should mean far more to Blake than the five thousand pounds at which the +value of the Duke's head had already been fixed by Parliament. He needed +a tool for this, and he even thought of Westmacott and Lupton House, but +afterwards preferred a Mr. Newlington, who was in better case to assist +him. This Newlington, an exceedingly prosperous merchant and one of the +richest men perhaps in the whole West of England, looked with extreme +disfavour upon Monmouth, whose advent had paralyzed his industries to an +extent that was costing him a fine round sum of money weekly. + +He was now in alarm lest the town of Bridgwater should be made to +pay dearly for having harboured the Protestant Duke--he had no faith +whatever in the Protestant Duke's ultimate prevailing--and that he, +as one of the town's most prominent and prosperous citizens, might +be amongst the heaviest sufferers in spite of his neutrality. This +neutrality he observed because it was hardly safe in that disaffected +town for a man to proclaim himself a loyalist. + +To him Sir Rowland expounded his audacious plan... He sought out the +merchant in his handsome mansion on the night of that Friday which had +witnessed Monmouth's return, and the merchant, honoured by the visit of +this gallant--ignorant as he was of the gentleman's fame in town--placed +himself entirely and instantly at his disposal, though the hour was +late. Sounding him carefully, and finding the fellow most amenable +to any scheme that should achieve the salvation of his purse and +industries, Blake boldly laid his plan before him. Startled at first, +Mr. Newlington upon considering it became so enthusiastic that he hailed +Sir 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 Lupton +House and to bed. In the morning he broached the matter to Richard. He +had all the vanity of the inferior not only to lessen the appearance of +his inferiority, but to clothe himself in a mantle of importance; and it +was this vanity urged him to acquaint Richard with his plans in the very +presence 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 and +pleasant here in contrast to the heat of the July sun, which, following +upon the late wet weather, beat fiercely on the lawn, the window-doors +to which stood open. The cloth had been raised, and Diana and her mother +had lately left the room. Ruth, in the window-seat, at a small oval +table, was arranging a cluster of roses in an old bronze bowl. Sir +Rowland, his stiff short figure carefully dressed in a suit of brown +camlet, his fair wig very carefully curled, occupied a tall-backed +armchair near the empty fireplace. Richard, perched on the table's edge, +swung his shapely legs idly backwards and forwards and cogitated upon a +pretext to call for a morning draught of last October's ale. + +Ruth completed her task with the roses and turned her eyes upon her +brother. + +“You are not looking well, Richard,” she said, which was true enough, +for much hard drinking was beginning to set its stamp on Richard, and +young as he was, his insipidly fair face began to display a bloatedness +that was exceedingly unhealthy. + +“Oh, I am well enough,” he answered almost peevishly, for these +allusions to his looks were becoming more frequent than he savoured. + +“Gad!” cried Sir Rowland's deep voice, “you'll need to be well. I have +work for you to-morrow, Dick.” + +Dick did not appear to share his enthusiasm. “I am sick of the work you +discover for us, Rowland,” he answered ungraciously. + +But Blake showed no resentment. “Maybe you'll find the present task more +to your taste. If it's deeds of derring-do you pine for, I am the man +to satisfy you.” He smiled grimly, his bold grey eyes glancing across at +Ruth, 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 story +before you'll credit me. Shalt have it, then. But...” and he checked on +the word, his face growing serious, his eye wandering to the door, “I +would not have it overheard--not for a king's ransom,” which was more +literally 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 contempt +of the gravity of this news of which Sir Rowland made so much in +anticipation. He was acquainted with Sir Rowland's ways, and the +importance 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 considering +that--notably His Majesty King James, the Duke of Albemarle, and the +Earl of Feversham. Yet they don't appear to achieve it.” + +“It is in that particular,” said Blake complacently, “that I shall +differ from them.” He turned to Ruth, eager to engage her in the +conversation, to flatter her by including her in the secret. Knowing the +loyalist principles she entertained, he had no reason to fear that his +plans could other than meet her approval. “What do you say, Mistress +Ruth?” Presuming upon his friendship with her brother, he had taken to +calling her by that name in preference to the other which he could not +bring himself to give her. “Is it not an object worthy of a gentleman's +endeavour?” + +“If you can save so many poor people from encompassing their ruin by +following that rash young man the Duke of Monmouth, you will indeed be +doing a worthy deed.” + +Blake rose, and made her a leg. “Madam,” said he, “had aught been +wanting to cement my resolve, your words would supply it to me. My plan +is simplicity itself. I propose to capture Monmouth and his principal +agents, 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 of +its leaders it will melt and dissolve of itself. Once the Duke is in the +hands of his enemies there will be nothing left to fight for. Is it not +shrewd?” + +“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 he +sketched 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 Duke +is to do him the honour of supping at his house to-morrow night to fetch +the money. It is a reasonable request for Mr. Newlington to make under +the circumstances, and the Duke cannot--dare not refuse it.” + +“But how will that advance your project?” Ruth inquired, for Blake had +paused 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 Bridgwater +folk. I'll get the fellows I need from General Feversham. We take +Monmouth at supper, as quietly as may be, with what gentlemen happen to +have accompanied him. We bind and gag the Duke, and we convey him with +all speed and quiet out of Bridgwater. Feversham shall send a troop to +await me a mile or so from the town on the road to Weston Zoyland. We +shall join them with our captive, and thus convey him to the Royalist +General. Could aught be simpler or more infallible?” + +Richard had slipped from the table. He had changed his mind on the +subject of the importance of the business Blake had in view. Excited by +it, 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 who +may be with the Duke?” she inquired. + +“There are not likely to be many--half a dozen, say. We shall have to +make short work of them, lest they should raise an alarm.” He saw her +glance clouding. “That is the ugly part of the affair,” he was quick +to add, himself assuming a look of sadness. He sighed. “What help is +there?” he asked. “Better that those few should suffer than that, as you +yourself have said, there should be some thousands of lives lost before +this rebellion is put down. Besides,” he continued, “Monmouth's officers +are far-seeing, ambitious men, who have entered into this affair to +promote their own personal fortunes. They are gamesters who have set +their lives upon the board against a great prize, and they know it. But +these other poor misguided people who have gone out to fight for liberty +and religion--it is these whom I am striving to rescue.” + +His words sounded fervent, his sentiments almost heroic. Ruth looked at +him, and wondered had she misjudged him in the past. She sighed. Then +she 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 would +readily have believed them. As it was she waited, wondering, thinking of +him always as she had seen him on that day at Walford when he had taken +his leave of her, and more than once, when she pondered the words he had +said, the look that had invested his drooping eyes, she found herself +with tears in her own. They welled up now, and she rose hastily to her +feet. + +She looked a moment at Blake who was watching her keenly, speculating +upon this emotion of which she betrayed some sign, and wondering might +not his heroism have touched her, for, as we have seen, he had arrayed +a deed of excessive meanness, a deed worthy, almost, of the Iscariot, in +the panoply of heroic achievement. + +“I think,” she said, “that you are setting your hand to a very worthy +and glorious enterprise, and I hope, nay, I am sure, that success must +attend your efforts.” He was still bowing his thanks when she passed out +through the open window-doors into the sunshine of the garden. + +Sir Rowland swung round upon Richard. “A great enterprise, Dick,” he +cried; “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 the +venture.” + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. MR. WILDING'S RETURN + +The preparations to be made for the momentous coup Sir Rowland meditated +were considerable. Mr. Newlington was yet to be concerted with and +advised, and, that done, Sir Rowland had to face the difficulty of +eluding the Bridgwater guards and make his way to Feversham's camp at +Somerton to enlist the general's cooperation to the extent that we +have seen he looked for. That done, he was to return and ripen his +preparations for the business he had undertaken. Nevertheless, in spite +of all that lay before him, he did not find it possible to leave Lupton +House without stepping out into the garden in quest of Ruth. Through +the window, whilst he and Richard were at their ale, he had watched her +between whiles, and had lingered, waiting; for Diana was with her, and +it was not his wish to seek her whilst Diana was at hand. Speak with +her, ere he went, he must. He was an opportunist, and now, he fondly +imagined, was his opportunity. He had made that day, at last, a +favourable impression upon Richard's sister; he had revealed himself in +an heroic light, and egregiously misreading the emotion she had shown +before withdrawing, he was satisfied that did he strike now victory must +attend him. He sighed his satisfaction and pleasurable anticipation. He +had 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 another +glance showed him that Diana still lingered with her cousin; he wished +Diana at the devil. He had come to hate this fair-haired doll to whom +he had once paid court. She was too continually in his way, a constant +obstacle in his path, ever ready to remind Ruth of Anthony Wilding when +Sir Rowland most desired Anthony Wilding to be forgotten; and in Diana's +feelings towards himself such a change had been gradually wrought that +she had come to reciprocate his sentiments--to hate him with all the +bitter hatred into which love can be by scorn transmuted. At first her +object 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 had +constrained to become his wife, had been that he might stand a barrier +between Ruth and Sir Rowland to the end that Diana might hope to see +revived--faute de mieux, since possible in no other way--the feelings +that once Sir Rowland had professed for herself. The situation was +rich in humiliations for poor, vain, foolishly crafty Diana, and these +humiliations were daily rendered more bitter by Sir Rowland's unwavering +courtship of her cousin in spite of all that she could do. + +In the end the poison of them entered her soul, corroded her sentiments +towards him, dissolved the love she had borne him, and transformed +it into venom. She would not have him now if he did penitence for his +disaffection by going in sackcloth and crawling after her on his knees +for a full twelvemonth. But neither should he have Ruth if she could +thwart his purpose. On that she was resolved. + +Had she but guessed that he watched them from the windows, waiting for +her to take her departure, she had lingered all the morning, and all +the afternoon if need be, at Ruth's side. But being ignorant of +the circumstance--believing that he had already left the house--she +presently quitted Ruth to go indoors, and no sooner was she gone than +there was Blake replacing her at Ruth's elbow. Mistress Wilding met him +with unsmiling, but not ungentle face. + +“Not yet gone, Sir Rowland?” she asked him, and a less sanguine man had +been discouraged by the words. + +“It may be forgiven me that I tarry at such a time,” said he, “when we +consider that I go, perhaps--to return no more.” It was an inspiration +on his part to assume the role of the hero going forth to a possible +death. It invested him with noble, valiant pathos which could not, he +thought, fail of its effect upon a woman's mind. But he looked in vain +for a change of colour, be it ever so slight, or a quickening of the +breath. He found neither; though, indeed, her deep blue eyes seemed to +soften 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 the +risk may be.” + +“It is a good cause,” said she, thinking of the poor, deluded, humble +folk that followed Monmouth's banner, whom Blake's fine action was to +rescue from impending ruin and annihilation, “and surely Heaven will be +on your side.” + +“We must prevail,” cried Blake with kindling eye, and you had thought +him a fanatic, not a miserable earner of blood-money. “We must +prevail, though some of us may pay dearly for the victory. I have a +foreboding...” 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 have +envied the performance; and it took effect with her, this adding of a +prospective 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 the +school of foul experience--in the secret ways that lead to a woman's +favour. In a pursuit of this kind there was no subterfuge too mean, no +treachery too base for Sir Rowland Blake. + +“Will you walk, mistress?” he said, and she, feeling that it were an +unkindness not to do his will, assented gravely. They moved down the +sloping lawn, side by side, Sir Rowland leaning on his cane, bareheaded, +his feathered hat tucked under his arm. Before them the river's smooth +expanse, swollen and yellow with the recent rains, glowed like a sheet +of 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 without +seeing you, without saying something that I may never have another +chance of saying; something that--who knows?--but for the emprise to +which I am now wedded you had never heard from me.” + +He shot her a furtive, sidelong glance from under his heavy, beetling +brows, and now, indeed, he observed a change ripple over the composure +of her face like a sudden breeze across a sheet of water. The deep lace +collar at her throat rose and fell, and her fingers toyed nervously with +a ribbon of her grey bodice. She recovered in an instant, and threw up +entrenchments against the attack she saw he was about to make. + +“You exaggerate, I trust,” said she. “Your forebodings will be proved +groundless. You will return safe and sound from this venture, as indeed +I 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 you +hope for my return, return I will; but unless I know that you will have +some welcome for me such as I desire from you, I think...” his +voice quivered cleverly, “I think, perhaps, it were well if... if +my 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 saw +was flushed, her eyes had hardened somewhat. Calmly she disengaged her +hand. + +“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 his +case, and, accepting defeat, had made as orderly a retreat as still was +possible. But Sir Rowland, stricken in his vanity, went headlong on to +utter rout. + +“Since you ask me in such terms I will be plain, indeed,” he answered +her. “I mean...” He almost quailed before the look that met him from her +intrepid eyes. “Do you not see my meaning, Ruth?” + +“That which I see,” said she, “I do not believe, and as I would not +wrong you by any foolish imaginings, I would have you plain with me.” + +Yet the egregious fool went on. “And why should you not believe your +senses?” he asked her, between anger and entreaty. “Is it wonderful that +I 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 a +sudden relaxing of the stiffness her lissom figure had assumed, “I think +you had better leave me, Sir Rowland,” she advised him. She half turned +and moved a step away; he followed with lowering glance, his upper lip +lifting and laying bare his powerful teeth. In a stride he was beside +her. + +“Do you hate me, Ruth?” he asked her hoarsely. + +“Why should I hate you?” she counter-questioned, sadly. “I do not even +dislike you,” she continued in a more friendly tone, adding, as if by +way of explaining this phenomenon, “You are my brother's friend. But I +am disappointed in you, Sir Rowland. You had, I know, no intention of +offering 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 scruple +stands between us...” + +“I think there is more,” she answered him. “You compel me to hurt you; I +do 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, or +to-morrow, in this affair...” + +“I shall pray for you,” said she; for she had found him out at +last, perceived the nature of the bow he sought to draw across her +heart-strings, and, having perceived it, contempt awoke in her. He had +attempted to move her by unfair, insidious means. + +He fell back, crimson from chin to brow. He stifled the wrath that +welled up, threatening to choke him. He was a short-necked man, of the +sort--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 a +profound bow, bending himself almost in two before her in a very irony +of deference; then, drawing himself up again, he turned and left her. + +The plot which with some pride he had hatched and the reward he looked +to cull from it, were now to his soul as ashes to his lips. What could +it profit him to destroy Monmouth so that Anthony Wilding lived? For +whether 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 a +stumbling-block to him since he had come to Bridgwater; but for Wilding +he might have run a smooth course; he was still fool enough to hug +that dear illusion to his soul. Somewhere in England--if not dead +already--this Wilding lurked, an outlaw, whom any might shoot down at +sight. Sir Rowland swore he would not rest until he knew that Anthony +Wilding cumbered the earth no more--leastways, not the surface of it. + +He went forth to seek Newlington. The merchant had sent his message +to the rebel King, and had word in answer that His Majesty would be +graciously pleased to sup at Mr. Newlington's at nine o'clock on +the following evening, attended by a few gentlemen of his immediate +following. Sir Rowland received the news with satisfaction, and sighed +to think that Mr. Wilding--still absent, Heaven knew where--would not be +of the party. It was reported that on the Monday Monmouth was to march +to Gloucester, hoping there to be joined by his Cheshire friends, so +that 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 to +Somerton to concert with Lord Feversham concerning the men he would need +for his undertaking. + +That night Richard made free talk of the undertaking to Diana and to +Ruth, loving, as does the pusillanimous, to show himself engaged in +daring enterprises. Emulating his friend Sir Rowland, he held forth +with 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 never +entered 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 Rowland +returned to Bridgwater, his mission to Feversham entirely successful, +and all preparations made. He completed his arrangements, and towards +eight o'clock that night the twenty men sent by Feversham--they had +slipped singly into the town--began to muster in the orchard at the back +of Mr. Newlington's house. + +It was just about that same hour that Mr. Wilding, saddle-worn and +dust-clogged in every pore, rode into Bridgwater, and made his way to +the sign of The Ship in the High Street, overlooking the Cross where +Trenchard was lodged. His friend was absent--possibly gone with his men +to the sermon Ferguson was preaching to the army in the Castle Fields. +Having put up his horse, Mr. Wilding, all dusty as he was, repaired +straight to the Castle to report himself to Monmouth. + +He was informed that His Majesty was in council. Nevertheless, urging +that his news was of importance, he begged to be instantly announced. +After a pause, he was ushered into a lofty, roomy chamber where, in +the fading daylight, King Monmouth sat in council with Grey and Wade, +Matthews, Speke, Ferguson, and others. At the foot of the table stood a +sturdy country-fellow, unknown to Wilding. It was Godfrey, the spy, who +was to act as their guide across Sedgemoor that night; for the matter +that was engaging them just then was the completion of their plans +for the attack that was to be made that very night upon Feversham's +unprepared camp--a matter which had been resolved during the last few +hours as an alternative preferable to the retreat towards Gloucester +that had at first been intended. + +Wilding was shocked at the change that had been wrought in Monmouth's +appearance during the few weeks since last he had seen him. His face +was thin, pale, and haggard, his eyes were more sombre, and beneath them +there were heavy, dark stains of sleeplessness and care, his very voice, +when presently he spoke, seemed to have lost the musical timbre that had +earlier distinguished it; it was grown harsh and rasping. Disappointment +after disappointment, set down to ill-luck, but in reality the fruit of +incompetence, had served to sour him. The climax had been reached in +the serious desertions after the Philips Norton fight, and the flight +of Paymaster Goodenough with the funds for the campaign. The company sat +about the long oak table on which a map was spread, and Colonel Wade was +speaking when Wilding entered. + +On his appearance Wade ceased, and every eye was turned upon the +messenger from London. Ferguson, fresh from his sermon, sat with elbows +resting on the table, his long chin supported by his hands, his eyes +gleaming sharply under the shadow of his wig which was pulled down in +front to the level of his eyebrows. + +It was the Duke who addressed Mr. Wilding, and the latter's keen ears +were 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 not +understanding, and it was observed that he stumbled over the Duke's new +title. + +“We had imagined that the pleasures of the town were claiming your +entire attention.” + +Wilding looked from one to the other of the men before him, and on the +face of all he saw a gravity that amounted to disapproval of him. + +“The pleasures of the town?” said he, frowning, and again--“the +pleasures of the town? There is something in this that I fear I do not +understand.” + +“Do you bring us news that London has risen?” asked Grey suddenly. + +“I would I could,” said Wilding, smiling wistfully. + +“Is it a laughing matter?” quoth Grey angrily. + +“A smiling matter, my lord,” answered Wilding, nettled. “Your lordship +will 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 Majesty +expected of me more than was possible to any man.” + +“You have wasted your time in London, sir,” the Duke explained. “We sent +you thither counting upon your loyalty and devotion to ourselves. What +have you done?” + +“As much as a man could...” Wilding began, when Grey again interrupted +him. + +“As little as a man could,” he answered. “Were His Grace not the most +foolishly clement prince in Christendom, a halter would be your reward +for the fine things you have done in London.” + +Mr. Wilding stiffened visibly, his long white face grew set, and his +slanting 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 himself +the mouthpiece of him for whom Wilding had incurred ruin was more than +he could bear with equanimity; that the risks to which he had exposed +himself in London--where, indeed, he had been in almost hourly +expectation of arrest and such short shrift as poor Disney had--should +be acknowledged in such terms as these, was something that turned him +almost 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 clemency +might, indeed--and with greater justice--have been levelled against His +Majesty,” said he and his calm was almost terrible. + +His lordship grew pale at the obvious allusion to Monmouth's mild +treatment of him for his cowardice at Bridport, and his eyes were as +baleful 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 some +explanation to offer us of his failure.” + +His failure! They took too much for granted. Stitched in the lining of +his boot was the letter from the Secretary of State. To have achieved +that was surely to have achieved something. + +“I thank you, sir, for supposing it,” answered Wilding, his voice hard +with 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 London +by cowards; self-sufficient and self-important cowards who have hindered +me in my task instead of helping me. I refer particularly to Colonel +Danvers.” + +Grey interrupted him. “You have a rare effrontery, sir--aye, by God! Do +you dare call Danvers a coward?” + +“It is not I who so call him; but the facts. Colonel Danvers has run +away. + +“Danvers gone?” cried Ferguson, voicing the consternation of all. + +Wilding shrugged and smiled; Grey's eye was offensively upon him. He +elected to answer the challenge of that glance. “He has followed +the illustrious example set him by other of Your Majesty's devoted +followers,” said Wilding. + +Grey rose suddenly. This was too much. “I'll not endure it from this +knave!” 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 almost +devilishly subtle manner of expressing wordlessly what was passing in +his mind. There was not one present but gathered from his utterance of +those five words that he did not hold Grey worthy the honour of +being called to account for that offensive epithet. He made just an +exclamatory protest, such as he might have made had a woman applied the +term 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 under +arrest.” + +Mr. Wilding's manner quickened on the instant from passive to active +anger. + +“Upon what charge, sir?” he demanded sharply. In truth it was the +only thing wanting that, after all that he had undergone, he should be +arrested. His eyes were upon the Duke's melancholy face, and his anger +was such that in that moment he vowed that if Monmouth acted upon this +suggestion of Grey's he should not have so much as the consolation of +Sunderland'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 from +London empty-handed, your task unaccomplished, and instead of a becoming +contrition, you hector it here before us in this manner.” He shook his +head. “We are not pleased with you, Mr. Wilding.” + +“But, Your Grace,” exclaimed Wilding, “is it my fault that your London +agents had failed to organize the rising? That rising should have taken +place, and it would have 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, Your +Majesty, and there be still some details of this attack to settle that +your officers may prepare for it, whilst Mr. Newlington awaits Your +Majesty 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, and +Monmouth seemed to waver, whilst Grey looked disdainful unbelief of the +importance 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 at +Mr. Newlington's.” + +“Is it really necessary?” quoth Grey. + +This treatment of him inspired Mr. Wilding with malice. The mere mention +of Sunderland's letter would have changed their tone. But he elected +by no such word to urge the importance of his business. It should be +entirely as Monmouth should elect or be constrained by these gentlemen +about his council-table. + +“It would serve two purposes,” said Wade, whilst Monmouth still +considered. “Your Majesty will be none too well attended, your officers +having this other matter to prepare for. Mr. Wilding would form another +to 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 attend +us there. Lieutenant Cragg,” said His Grace to the young officer who had +admitted Wilding, and who had remained at attention by the door, “you +may reconduct Mr. Wilding.” + +Wilding bowed, his lips tight to keep in the anger that craved +expression. Then, without another word spoken, he turned and departed. + +“An insolent, overbearing knave!” was Grey's comment upon him after he +had left the room. + +“Let us attend to this, your lordship,” said Speke, tapping the +map. “Time presses,” and he invited Wade to continue the matter that +Wilding's advent had interrupted. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. BETRAYAL + +Still smarting under the cavalier treatment he had received, Mr. Wilding +came forth from the Castle to find Trenchard awaiting him among the +crowd of officers and men that thronged the yard. + +Nick linked his arm through his friend's and led him away. They quitted +the place in silence, and in silence took their way south towards the +High Street, Nick waiting for Mr. Wilding to speak, Mr. Wilding's mind +still in turmoil at the things he had endured. At last Nick halted +suddenly and looked keenly at his friend in the failing light. + +“What a plague ails you, Tony?” said he sharply. “You are as silent as I +am impatient for your news.” + +Wilding told him in brief, disdainful terms of the reception they +had given him at the Castle, and of how they had blamed him for the +circumstance 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 prosper +with that fellow in it.” He laid his hand on Wilding's arm and lowered +his voice. “As I have hinted before, 'twould not surprise me if time +proved him a traitor. Failure attends him everywhere, and so unfailingly +that 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 place +and the country disaffected as it is, we had been masters of England by +now.” + +Two ladies passed them at that moment, cloaked and hooded, walking +briskly. One of them turned to look at Trenchard, who, waving his arms +in wild gesticulation, was a conspicuous object. She checked in her +walk, 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 her +to behold him safe and sound. + +“There have been moments,” answered Wilding, “when myself I scarce +expected to return. Your ladyship's greeting shows me what I had lost +had 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 and +dust-stained. “You will have been to Lupton House?” + +A shadow crossed his face, his glance seemed to grow clouded, all of +which watchful Diana did not fail to observe. “Not yet,” said he. + +“You are a laggard,” she laughed at him, and he felt the blood driven +back upon his heart. What did she mean? Was it possible she suggested +that he should be welcome, that his wife's feelings towards him had +undergone a change? His last parting from her on the road near Walford +had been ever in his mind. + +“I have had weighty business to transact, he replied, and Trenchard +snorted, his mind flying back to the council-room at the Castle, and +what his friend had told him. + +“But now that you have disposed of that you will sup with us,” said Lady +Horton, who was convinced that since Ruth had gone to the altar with +him he was Ruth's lover in spite of the odd things she had heard. +Appearances with Lady Horton counted for everything, and all that +glittered was gold to her. + +“I would,” he answered, “but that I am to sup at Mr. Newlington's with +His Majesty. My visit must wait until to-morrow.” + +“Let us hope,” said Trenchard, “that it waits no longer.” He was already +instructed 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 thought +she had turned singularly pale. Her hand was over her heart, her eyes +wide. She seemed about to add something, but checked herself. She took +her mother's arm. “We are detaining Mr. Wilding, mother,” said she, +and her voice quivered as if her whole being were shaken by some gusty +agitation. They spoke their farewells briefly, and moved on. A second +later 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, and +hurried away with her. + +Trenchard stood staring after them a moment. “Odd!” said he; “did you +mark that girl's discomposure?” + +But Wilding's thoughts were elsewhere. “Come, Nick! If I am to render +myself 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 her +protesting and short-winded mother. + +“Where is your mistress?” the girl asked excitedly of the first servant +she met at Lupton House. + +“In her room, madam,” the man replied, and to Ruth's room went Diana +breathlessly, leaving Lady Horton gaping after her and understanding +nothing. + +Ruth, who was seated pensive by her window, rose on Diana's impetuous +entrance, and in the deepening twilight she looked almost ghostly in her +gown of shimmering white satin, sewn with pearls about the neck of the +low-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, more +because she felt that she must say something than because her words +fitted the occasion. + +“Not yet,” said Diana grimly. + +“Not yet?” + +“He sups to-night at Mr. Newlington's,” Miss Horton exclaimed in a voice +pregnant with meaning. + +“Ah!” It was a cry from Ruth, sharp as if she had been stabbed. She sank +back to her seat by the window, smitten down by this sudden news. + +There was a pause, which fretted Diana, who now craved knowledge of what +might be passing in her cousin's mind. She advanced towards Ruth and +laid a trembling hand on her shoulder, where the white gown met the +ivory neck. “He must be warned,” she said. + +“But... but how?” stammered Ruth. “To warn him were to betray Sir +Rowland.” + +“Sir Rowland?” cried Diana in high scorn. + +“And... and Richard,” Ruth continued. + +“Yes, and Mr. Newlington, and all the other knaves that are engaged in +this murderous business. Well?” she demanded. “Will you do it, or must +I?” + +“Do it?” Ruth's eyes sought her cousin's white, excited face in the +quasi-darkness. “But have you thought of what it will mean? Have you +thought of the poor people that will perish unless the Duke is taken and +this rebellion brought to an end?” + +“Thought of it?” repeated Diana witheringly. “Not I. I have thought that +Mr. Wilding is here and like to have his throat cut before an hour is +past.” + +“Tell me, are you sure of this?” asked Ruth. + +“I have it from your husband's own lips,” Diana answered, and told her +in a few words of her meeting with Mr. Wilding. + +Ruth sat with hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the dim violet +after-glow in the west, and her mind wrestling with this problem that +Diana 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 poor +misguided folk who are to be saved by this,” cried Ruth in an agony. “If +Mr. Wilding is warned, they will all be ruined.” + +Diana stamped her foot impatiently. “Had I thought to find you in this +mind, 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 repay +him 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 prime +intent was the thwarting of Sir Rowland Blake. If Wilding were warned +of what manner of feast was spread at Newlington's, Sir Rowland would be +indeed undone. + +“You think of Richard,” she exclaimed, “and you know that Richard is to +have no active part in the affair--that he will run no risk. They have +assigned him but a sentry duty that he may warn Blake and his followers +if any danger threatens them.” + +“It is not of Richard's life I am thinking, but of his honour, of his +trust in me. To warn Mr. Wilding were... to commit an act of betrayal.” + +“And is Mr. Wilding to be slaughtered with his friends?” Diana asked +her. “Resolve me that. Time presses. In half an hour it will be too +late.” + +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 not +break faith with Richard nor ruin those others. She would detain him, +and whilst warning him at the last moment, in time for him to save +himself; 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 and +Sir Rowland. She had resolved, she thought, the awful difficulty that +had confronted her. She rose suddenly, heartened by the thought. + +“Give me your cloak and wimple,” she bade Diana, and Diana flew to do +her 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 the +wimple well over her head, so that in its shadows her face might lie +concealed, and hid her shimmering white dress under Diana's cloak. + +She hastened through the ill-lighted streets, never heeding the rough +cobbles that hurt her feet, shod in light indoor wear, never heeding the +crowds that thronged her way. All Bridgwater was astir with Monmouth's +presence; moreover, there had been great incursions from Taunton and the +surrounding country, the women-folk of the Duke-King's followers having +come that day to Bridgwater to say farewell to father and son, husband +and brother, before the army marched--as was still believed--to +Gloucester. + +The half-hour was striking from Saint Mary's--the church in which she +had been married--as Ruth reached the door of the sign of The Ship. She +was about to knock, when suddenly it opened, and Mr. Wilding himself, +with Trenchard immediately behind him, stood confronting her. At sight +of him a momentary weakness took her. He had changed from his hard-used +riding-garments into a suit of roughly corded black silk, which threw +into relief the steely litheness of his spare figure. His dark brown +hair was carefully dressed, diamonds gleamed in the cravat of snowy lace +at his throat. He was uncovered, his hat under his arm, and he stood +aside to make way for her, imagining that she was some woman of the +house. + +“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 had +thought he recognized the voice, as his sudden start had shown; and +yet he disbelieved his ears. She moved her head at that moment, and the +light streaming out from a lamp in the passage beat upon her white face. + +“Ruth!” he cried, and came quickly forward. Trenchard, behind +him, looked on and scowled with sudden impatience. Mr. Wilding's +philanderings with this lady had never had the old rake's approval. Too +much trouble already had resulted from them. + +“I must speak with you at once. At once!” she urged him, her tone +fearful. + +“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 your +service. 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 door +from which he was barely emerged. + +“'Twere scarce fitting,” said he, for being confused and full of +speculation on the score of her need, he had for the moment almost +overlooked the relations in which they stood. In spite of the ceremony +through which they had gone together, Mr. Wilding still mostly thought +of her as of a mistress very difficult to woo. + +“Fitting?” she echoed, and then after a pause, “Am I not your wife?” she +asked him in a low voice, her cheeks crimsoning. + +“Ha! 'Pon honour, I had almost forgot,” said he, and though the burden +of his words seemed mocking, their tone was sad. + +Of the passers-by that jostled them a couple had now paused to watch a +scene that had an element of the unusual in it. She pulled her wimple +closer to her face, took him by the arm, and drew him with her into the +house. + +“Close the door,” she bade him, and Trenchard, who had stood aside that +they might pass in, forestalled him in obeying her. “Now lead me to your +room, said she, and Wilding in amaze turned to Trenchard as if asking +his consent, for the lodging, after all, was Trenchard's. + +“I'll wait here,” said Nick, and waved his hand towards an oak bench +that stood in the passage. “You had best make haste,” he urged his +friend; “you are late already. That is, unless you are of a mind to set +the 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 under +his breath, “there's little choice in rotten apples.” + +Ruth waited for some answer from Wilding that might suggest he was +indifferent whether he went to Newlington's or not; but he spoke no word +as he turned to lead the way above-stairs to the indifferent +parlour which with the adjoining bedroom constituted Mr. Trenchard's +lodging--and his own, for the time being. + +Having assured herself that the curtains were closely drawn, she put by +her cloak and hood, and stood revealed to him in the light of the +three candles, burning in a branch upon the bare oak table, dazzlingly +beautiful in her gown of ivory-white. + +He stood apart, cogitating her with glowing eyes, the faintest smile +between question and pleasure hovering about his thin mouth. He had +closed the door, and stood in silence waiting for her to make known to +him 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 your +husband,” he said with grave humour. “Why seek now to overcloud that +fact? 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 I +have broken faith with you.” + +“Broken faith? As how?” + +“So!” he said, and sighed. “My words were of so little account that they +have been, I see, forgotten. Yet, so that I remember them, that is what +chiefly matters. I promised then--or seemed to promise--that I would +make a widow of you, who had made a wife of you against your will. It +has not happened yet. Do not despair. This Monmouth quarrel is not yet +fought out. Hope on, my Ruth.” + +She looked at him with eyes wide open--lustrous eyes of sapphire in +a face of ivory. A faint smile parted her lips, the reflection of the +thought in her mind that had she, indeed, been eager for his death she +would not be with him at this moment; had she desired it, how easy would +her course have been. + +“You do me wrong to bid me hope for that,” she answered him, her tones +level. “I do not wish the death of any man, unless...” She paused; her +truthfulness 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 chance +sought me to talk politics?” said he. “Or...” and he suddenly caught his +breath, his nostrils dilating with rage at the bare thought that leapt +into his mind. Had Monmouth, the notorious libertine, been to Lupton +House and persecuted her with his addresses? “Is it that you are +acquainted with His Grace?” he asked. + +“I have never spoken to him!” she answered, with no suspicion of what +was in his thoughts. + +In his relief he laughed, remembering now that Monmouth's affairs were +too absorbing just at present to leave him room for dalliance. + +“But you are standing,” said he, and he advanced a chair. “I deplore +that I have no better hospitality to offer you. I doubt if I ever shall +again. I am told that Albemarle did me the honour to stable his knackers +in my hall at Zoyland.” + +She took the chair he offered her, sinking to it like one physically +weary, a thing he was quick to notice. He watched her, his body eager, +his soul trammelling it with a steely restraint. “Tell me, now,” said +he, “in what you need me.” + +She was silent a moment, pondering, hesitation and confusion seeming to +envelop her. A pink flush rose to colour the beautiful pillar of neck +and overspread the delicate half-averted face. He watched it, wondering. + +“How long,” she asked him, her whole intent at present being to delay +him 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 your +presence, and I feared you might intend to abstain from seeking me.” + +He almost held his breath while she spoke, caught in amazement. He was +standing close beside her chair, his right hand rested upon its tall +back. + +“Did you so intend?” she asked him. + +“I told you even now,” he answered with hard-won calm, “that I had made +you a sort of promise.” + +“I... I would not have you keep it,” she murmured. She heard his sharply +indrawn breath, felt him leaning over her, and was filled with an +unaccountable fear. + +“Was it to tell me this you came?” he asked her, his voice reduced to a +whisper. + +“No... yes,” she answered, an agony in her mind, which groped for some +means to keep him by her side until his danger should be overpast. That +much she owed him in honour if in nothing else. + +“No--yes?” he echoed, and he had drawn himself erect again. “What is't +you 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 heave +of her bosom in its low bodice. He knit his brows, perplexed. Here was +surely 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 then +continued. “I am concerned too for your honour, and there is no honour +in following his banner. He has crowned himself King, and so proved +himself a self-seeker who came dissembled as the champion of a cause +that he might delude poor ignorant folk into flocking to his standard +and helping him to his ambitious ends.” + +“You are wondrously well schooled,” said he. “Whose teachings do you +recite me? Sir Rowland Blake's?” + +At another time the sneer might have cut her. At the moment she was too +intent upon gaining time. The means to it mattered little. The more she +talked to no purpose, the more at random was their discourse, the better +would 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 it +was 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 bethought +him suddenly of his engagement. Trenchard, below-stairs, supremely +indifferent 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 you +seek my service. Indeed, we seem to have talked to little purpose. My +time is very short.” + +“Where are you going?” she asked him, and fearfully she shot a sidelong +glance at the timepiece. It was still too soon, by at least five +minutes. + +He smiled, but his smile was singular. He began to suspect at last that +her 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 the +table when they had entered. “Tell me briefly. I may stay no longer.” + +She rose, her agitation suddenly increasing, afraid that after all he +would escape her. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Answer me that, and +I 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 am +late.” + +“If I were to ask you not to go,” she said slowly, and she held out her +hands to him, her glance most piteous--and that was not acting--as she +raised it to meet his own, “would you not stay to pleasure me?” + +He considered her from under frowning eyes. “Ruth,” he said, and he took +her hands, “there is here something that I do not understand. What is't +you 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 to +go.” + +She drew closer to him, her hands upon his shoulders. “Yet if I ask +you--I, your wife?” she pleaded, and almost won him to her will. + +But suddenly he remembered another occasion on which, for purposes of +her 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?” she +sighed as she took up her mantle. “Had you but observed more gentle +ways, 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, her +hand apparently upon the latch. “You shall not go until you have told +me why you besought me to keep away from Newlington's. What is it?” he +asked, and paused suddenly, a flood of light breaking in upon his mind. +“Is there some treachery afoot?” he asked her, and his eye went wildly +to the clock. A harsh, grating sound rang through the room. “What are +you doing?” he cried. “Why have you locked the door?” She was tugging +and fumbling desperately to extract the key, her hands all clumsy in her +nervous haste. He leapt at her, but in that moment the key came away in +her 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 eloquent +than words to his ready wit. Sir Rowland or Richard, or both, were in +some plot for the Duke's ruin--perhaps assassination. Had not her very +words shown that she herself was out of all sympathy with Monmouth? He +was out of sympathy himself. But not to the extent of standing by to see +his throat cut. She would have the plot succeed--whatever it might be +and yet that he himself be spared. There his thoughts paused; but only +for a moment. He saw suddenly in this, not a proof of concern born of +love but of duty towards him who had imperilled himself once--and for +all time, indeed--that he might save her brother and Sir Rowland. + +He told her what had been so suddenly revealed to him, taxing her with +it. She acknowledged it, her wits battling to find some way by which +she might yet gain a few moments more. She would cling to the key, and +though he should offer her violence, she would not let it go without a +struggle, and that struggle must consume the little time yet wanting to +make it too late for him to save the Duke, and--what imported more--thus +save herself from betraying her brother's trust. Another fear leapt at +her 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's +in 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 have +you slain.” + +“'Tis not my purpose--not just yet. But I must save the others. God +forgive me if I offer violence to a woman,” he added, “and lay rude +hands 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. He +wheeled about, his self-control all slipping from him now. Suddenly she +darted to the window, and with the hand that clenched the key she +smote 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 the +hand 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 and +sobbing, to a chair, sinking her bleeding hand to her lap, and smearing +recklessly her spotless, shimmering gown. + +He caught up a chair by its legs, and at a single blow smashed down the +door--a frail barrier after all. “Nick!” he roared. “Nick!” He tossed +the chair from him and vanished into the adjoining room to reappear a +moment later carrying basin and ewer, and a shirt of Trenchard's--the +first 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 so +great as the flow of blood had made him fear. He tore Trenchard's +fine cambric shirt to shreds--a matter on which Trenchard afterwards +commented in quotations from at least three famous Elizabethan +dramatists. He bound up her hand, just as Nick made his appearance at +the splintered door, his mouth open, his pipe, gone out, between his +fingers. He was followed by a startled serving-wench, the only other +person 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 to +her he left the room, dragging Trenchard with him. It was striking nine +as they went down the stairs, and the sound brought as much satisfaction +to Ruth above as dismay to Wilding below. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE BANQUET + +It was striking nine. Therefore, Ruth thought that she had achieved her +object, Wilding imagined that all was lost. It needed the more tranquil +mind of Nicholas Trenchard to show him the fly in madam's ointment, +after Wilding, in half a dozen words, had made him acquainted with the +situation. + +“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 all +it needs. You are taking it for granted that nine o'clock is the hour +appointed 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 which +Jonathan Edney--Mr. Trenchard's landlord--distinguished his premises and +the chandler's trade he drove there. Trenchard set a detaining hand on +Mr. Wilding's arm. + +“Nine o'clock is the hour appointed for supper. It is odds the Duke will +be a little late, and it is more than odds that when he does arrive, the +assassins will wait until the company is safely at table and lulled by +good eating and drinking. You had overlooked that, I see. It asks an old +head for wisdom, after all. Look you, Anthony. Speed to Colonel Wade as +fast as your legs can carry you, and get a score of men. Then find +some fellow to lead you to Newlington's orchard, and if only you do not +arrive too late you may take Sir Rowland and his cut-throats in the rear +and destroy them to a man before they realize themselves attacked. I'll +reconnoitre 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 not +thought it had you seen him running in silk stockings and silver-buckled +shoes at a headlong pace through the narrow streets of Bridgwater, +in the direction of the Castle. He overset more than one, and oaths +followed him from these and from others whom he rudely jostled out of +his path. Wade was gone with Monmouth, but he came upon Captain Slape, +who had a company of scythes and musketeers incorporated in the Duke's +own regiment, and to him Wilding gasped out the news and his request for +a score of men with what breath was left him. + +Time was lost--and never was time more precious--in convincing Slape +that this was no old wife's tale. At last, however, he won his way and +twenty musketeers; but the quarter-past the hour had chimed ere they +left the Castle. He led them forth at a sharp run, with never a thought +for the circumstance that they would need their breath anon, perhaps for +fighting, and he bade the man who guided them take them by back streets +that they might attract as little attention as possible. + +Within a stone's-throw of the house he halted them, and sent one +forward to reconnoitre, following himself with the others as quietly and +noiselessly as possible. Mr. Newlington's house was all alight, but from +the 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. Wilding +inferred with supreme relief that they were still in time. But +the danger was not yet past. Already, perhaps, the assassins were +penetrating--or had penetrated--to the house; and at any moment such +sounds might greet them as would announce the execution of their +murderous design. + +Meanwhile Mr. Trenchard, having relighted his pipe, and set his hat +rakishly atop his golden wig, strolled up the High Street, swinging +his long cane very much like a gentleman taking the air in quest of an +appetite for supper. He strolled past the Cross and on until he came +to the handsome mansion--one of the few handsome houses in +Bridgwater--where opulent Mr. Newlington had his residence. A small +crowd had congregated about the doors, for word had gone forth that His +Majesty was to sup there. Trenchard moved slowly through the people, +seemingly uninterested, but, in fact, scanning closely every face he +encountered. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he espied in the +indifferent light Mr. Richard Westmacott. + +Trenchard passed him, jostling him as he went, and strolled on some few +paces, then turned, and came slowly back, and observed that Richard had +also turned and was now watching him as he approached. He was all but +upon 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 a +turn-tippet, flushed, and stood aside to give passage to the other. +But Mr. Trenchard was by no means minded to pass. He clapped a hand +on Richard's shoulder. “Nay,” he cried, between laughter and feigned +resentment. “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 hat +over-jauntily cocked was all but shaken from his head. “I mind me the +last time we met, I played you an unfair trick,” said he. His tone +bespoke the very highest good-humour. He slipped his arm through +Richard's. “Never bear an old man malice, lad,” said he. + +“I assure you that I bear you none,” said Richard, relieved to find that +Trenchard apparently knew nothing of his defection, yet wishing that +Trenchard would go his ways, for Richard's task was to stand sentry +there. + +“I'll not believe you till you afford me proof,” Trenchard replied. “You +shall come and wash your resentment down in the best bottle of Canary +the 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,” said +Trenchard reproachfully. + +“Not so. But... but I am not thirsty.” + +“Not thirsty?” echoed Trenchard. “And is that a reason? Why, lad, it is +the beast that drinks only when he thirsts. And in that lies one of the +main differences between beast and man. Come on”--and his arm effected a +gentle pressure upon Richard's, to move him thence. But at that moment, +down the street with a great rumble of wheels, cracking of whips +and clatter of hoofs, came a coach, bearing to Mr. Newlington's King +Monmouth escorted by his forty life-guards. Cheering broke from the +crowd as the carriage drew up, and the Duke-King as he alighted +turned his handsome face, on which shone the ruddy glow of torches, to +acknowledge these loyal acclamations. He passed up the steps, at the top +of which Mr. Newlington--fat and pale and monstrously overdressed--stood +bowing to welcome his royal visitor. Host and guest vanished, followed +by some six officers of Monmouth's, among whom were Grey and Wade. +The sight-seers flattened themselves against the walls as the great +lumbering coach put about and went off again the way it had come, the +life-guards following after. + +Trenchard fancied that he caught a sigh of relief from Richard, but the +street was noisy at the time and he may well have been mistaken. + +“Come,” said he, renewing his invitation, “we shall both be the better +for a little milk of the White Cow.” + +Richard wavered almost by instinct. The White Cow, he knew, was famous +for its sack; on the other hand, he was pledged to Sir Rowland to +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, he +moved a few steps up the street; then halted, his duty battling with his +inclination. + +“No, no,” he muttered. “If you will excuse me...” + +“Not I,” said Trenchard, drawing from his hesitation a shrewd inference +as 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 the +line of least resistance--he assured himself that his sentryship was +entirely 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 all +surprises; 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 gave +himself up to the inevitable and fell into step alongside his companion +who babbled aimlessly of trivial matters. Trenchard felt the change from +unwilling 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 a +long table, and there they sat and discussed the landlady's Canary for +the best part of a half-hour, until a sudden spatter of musketry, near +at hand, came to startle the whole room. + +There was a momentary stillness in the tavern, succeeded by an excited +clamouring, a dash for the windows and a storm of questions, to +which none could return any answer. Richard had risen with a sudden +exclamation, very pale and scared of aspect. Trenchard tugged at his +sleeve. + +“Sit down,” said he. “Sit down. It will be nothing.” + +“Nothing?” echoed Richard, and his eyes were suddenly bent on Trenchard +in a look in which suspicion was now blent with terror. + +A second volley of musketry crackled forth at that moment, and the next +the whole street was in an uproar. Men were running and shots resounded +on every side, above all of which predominated the cry that His Majesty +was murdered. + +In an instant the common room of the White Cow was emptied of every +occupant save two--Trenchard and Westmacott. Neither of them felt the +need to go forth in quest of news. They knew how idle was the cry in +the streets. They knew what had taken place, and knowing it, Trenchard +smoked on placidly, satisfied that Wilding had been in time, whilst +Richard stood stricken and petrified by dismay at realizing, with even +greater certainty, that something had supervened to thwart, perhaps +to destroy, Sir Rowland. For he knew that Blake's party had gone forth +armed with pistols only, and intent not to use even these save in +the last extremity; to avoid noise they were to keep to steel. This +knowledge gave Richard positive assurance that the volleys they had +heard must have been fired by some party that had fallen upon Blake's +men and taken them by surprise. + +And it was his fault! He was the traitor to whom perhaps a score of men +owed their deaths at that moment! He had failed to keep watch as he had +undertaken. His fault it was--No! not his, but this villain's who sat +there smugly taking his ease and pulling at his pipe. + +At a blow Richard dashed the thing from his companion's mouth and +fingers. + +Trenchard looked up startled. + +“What the devil...?” he began. + +“It is your fault, your fault!” cried Richard, his eyes blazing, his +lips livid. “It was you who lured me hither.” + +Trenchard stared at him in bland surprise. “Now, what a plague is't +you're saying?” he asked, and brought Richard to his senses by awaking +in him the instinct of self-preservation. + +How could he explain his meaning without betraying himself?--and surely +that were a folly, now that the others were no doubt disposed of. Let +him, rather, bethink him of his own safety. Trenchard looked at him +keenly, with well-assumed intent to read what might be passing in his +mind, then rose, paid for the wine, and expressed his intention of +going forth to inquire into these strange matters that were happening in +Bridgwater. + +Meanwhile, those volleys fired in Mr. Newlington's orchard had +caused--as well may be conceived--an agitated interruption of the superb +feast Mr. Newlington had spread for his noble and distinguished guests. +The Duke had for some days been going in fear of his life, for already +he had been fired at more than once by men anxious to earn the price +at which his head was valued; instantly he surmised that whatever that +firing might mean, it indicated some attempt to surprise him with the +few gentlemen who attended him. + +The whole company came instantly to its feet, and Colonel Wade stepped +to a window that stood open--for the night was very warm. The Duke +turned for explanation to his host; the trader, however, professed +himself entirely unable to offer any. He was very pale and his limbs +were visibly trembling, but then his agitation was most natural. His +wife and daughter supervened at that moment, in their alarm entering the +room unceremoniously, in spite of the august presence, to inquire into +the meaning of this firing, and to reassure themselves that their father +and his illustrious guests were safe. + +From the windows they could observe a stir in the gardens below. Black +shadows of men flitted to and fro, and a loud, rich voice was heard +calling to them to take cover, that they were betrayed. Then a sheet of +livid flame blazed along the summit of the low wall, and a second volley +of musketry rang out, succeeded by cries and screams from the assailed +and the shouts of the assailers who were now pouring into the garden +through the battered doorway and over the wall. For some moments +steel rang on steel, and pistol-shots cracked here and there to the +accompaniment of voices, raised some in anger, some in pain. But it was +soon over, and a comparative stillness succeeded. + +A voice called up from the darkness under the windows to know if His +Majesty was safe. There had been a plot to take him; but the ambuscaders +had been ambuscaded in their turn, and not a man of them remained--which +was hardly exact, for under a laurel bush, scarce daring to breathe, lay +Sir Rowland Blake, livid with fear and fury, and bleeding from a rapier +scratch in the cheek, but otherwise unhurt. + +In the room above, Monmouth had sunk wearily into his chair upon hearing +of the design there had been against his life. A deep, bitter melancholy +enwrapped his spirit. Lord Grey's first thoughts flew to the man he +most disliked--the one man missing from those who had been bidden to +accompany His Majesty, whose absence had already formed the subject +of comment. Grey remembered this bearing before the council that same +evening, and his undisguised resentment of the reproaches levelled +against him. + +“Where is Mr. Wilding?” he asked suddenly, his voice dominating the +din of talk that filled the room. “Do we hold the explanation of his +absence?” + +Monmouth looked up quickly, his beautiful eyes ineffably sad, his weak +mouth drooping at the corners. Wade turned to confront Grey. + +“Your lordship does not suggest that Mr. Wilding can have a hand in +this?” + +“Appearances would seem to point in that direction,” answered Grey, and +in 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 he +had come upon them. He was bareheaded and carried his drawn sword. There +was blood upon it, and there was blood on the lace that half concealed +the hand that held it; otherwise--and saving that his shoes and +stockings were sodden with the dew from the long grass in the +orchard--he was as spotless as when he had left Ruth in Trenchard's +lodging; his face, too, was calm, save for the mocking smile with which +he 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 in +front of his master as if to preserve him. + +“You mistake, sirs,” said Wilding quietly. “The hand I have had in this +affair has been to save Your Majesty from your enemies. At the moment I +should 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 obtained +a score of musketeers of Slape's company. With those I surprised the +murderers lurking in the garden there, and made an end of them. I +greatly feared I should not come in time; but it is plain that Heaven +preserves Your Majesty for better days.” + +In the revulsion of feeling, Monmouth's eyes shone moist. Grey sheathed +his sword with an awkward laugh, and a still more awkward word of +apology to Wilding. The Duke, moved by a sudden impulse to make amends +for his unworthy suspicions, for his perhaps unworthy reception of +Wilding earlier that evening in the council-room, drew the sword on +which his hand still rested. He advanced a step. + +“Kneel, Mr. Wilding,” he said in a voice stirred by emotion. But +Wilding's stern spirit scorned this all too sudden friendliness of +Monmouth'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 taking +up 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, and +the fat, sinful merchant started forward in alarm. It was like a summons +of doom. “His Majesty came hither, I am informed, to receive at your +hands a sum of money--twenty thousand pounds--towards the expenses +of the campaign. Have you the money at hand?” And his eye, glittering +between cruelty and mockery, fixed itself upon the merchant's ashen +face. + +“It... it shall be forthcoming by morning,” stammered Newlington. + +“By morning?” cried Grey, who, with the others, watched Mr. Newlington +what time they all wondered at Mr. Wilding's question and the manner of +it. + +“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 you +the honours of supping with you here,” put in Wade, frowning darkly. + +The merchant's wife and daughter stood beside him watching him, and +plainly 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--or +would be were it not for what has happened. I would submit, Your +Majesty, that you receive from Mr. Newlington not twenty thousand pounds +as he had promised you, but thirty thousand, and that you receive it not +as a loan as was proposed, but as a fine imposed upon him in consequence +of... 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 it +was made, else we might have thought of a harsher course. You shall pay +the money by ten o'clock to-morrow to Mr. Wilding, whom I shall leave +behind for the sole purpose of collecting it.” He turned from Newlington +in plain disgust. “I think, sirs, that here is no more to be done. Are +the streets safe, Mr. Wilding?” + +“Not only safe, Your Majesty, but the twenty men of Slape's and your own +life-guards are waiting to escort you.” + +“Then in God's name let us be going,” said Monmouth, sheathing his sword +and moving towards the door. Not a second time did he offer to confer +the honour of knighthood upon his saviour. + +Mr. Wilding turned and went out to marshal his men. The Duke and his +officers followed more leisurely. As they reached the door, a woman's +cry broke the silence behind them. Monmouth turned. Mr. Newlington, +purple of face and his eyes protruding horridly, was beating the air +with his hands. Suddenly he collapsed, and crashed forward with arms +flung out amid the glass and silver of the table all spread with the +traitor's banquet to which he had bidden his unsuspecting victim. + +His wife and daughter ran to him and called him by name, Monmouth +pausing a moment to watch them from the doorway with eyes unmoved. But +Mr. 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 from +those she passed; heedless, too, of the smarting of her injured hand, +for the agony of her soul was such that it whelmed all minor sufferings +of the flesh. + +In the dining-room at Lupton House she came upon Diana and Lady Horton +at supper, and her appearance--her white and distraught face and +blood-smeared gown--brought both women to their feet in alarmed inquiry, +no less than it brought Jasper, the butler, to her side with ready +solicitude. Ruth answered him that there was no cause for fear, that she +was quite well--had scratched her hand, no more; and with that dismissed +him. When she was alone with her aunt and cousin, she sank into a chair +and told them what had passed 'twixt her husband and herself and most of +what she said was Greek to Lady Horton. + +“Mr. Wilding has gone to warn the Duke,” she ended, and the despair of +her tone was tragical. “I sought to detain him until it should be too +late--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 destroyed +with him,” her cousin answered. “Such a warning could but hasten on the +blow.” + +Lady Horton begged to be enlightened, and was filled with horror +when--from Diana--enlightenment was hers. Her sympathies were all with +the handsome Monmouth, for he was beautiful and should therefore be +triumphant; poor Lady Horton never got beyond externals. That her +nephew and Sir Rowland, whom she had esteemed, should be leagued in this +dastardly undertaking against that lovely person horrified her beyond +words. She withdrew soon afterwards, having warmly praised Ruth's action +in warning Mr. Wilding--unable to understand that it should be no part +of Ruth's design to save the Duke--and went to her room to pray for the +preservation of the late King's handsome son. + +Left alone with her cousin, Ruth gave expression to the fears for +Richard by which she was being tortured. Diana poured wine for her +and urged her to drink; she sought to comfort and reassure her. But +as 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. There +was a moment when, but for Diana's remonstrances, she had gone forth in +quest of news. Bad news were better than this horror of suspense. What +if Wilding's warning should have procured help, and Richard were slain +in consequence? Oh, it was unthinkable! Diana, white of face, listened +to and shared her fears. Even her shallow nature was stirred by the +tragedy of Ruth's position, by dread lest Richard should indeed have met +his end that night. In these moments of distress, she forgot her hopes +of triumphing over Blake, of punishing him for his indifference to +herself. + +At last, at something after midnight, there came a fevered rapping at +the outer door. Both women started up, and with arms about each other, +in their sudden panic, stood there waiting for the news that must be +here at last. + +The door of the dining-room was flung open; the women recoiled in +their dread of what might come; then Richard entered, Jasper's startled +countenance showing behind him. + +He closed the door, shutting out the wondering servant, and they saw +that, though his face was ashen and his limbs all a-tremble, he showed +no sign of any hurt or effort. His dress was as meticulous as when last +they had seen him. Ruth flew to him, flung her arms about his neck, and +pressed 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 her +from him almost roughly. “Have done!” he growled, and, lurching past +her, he reached the table, took up a bottle, and brimmed himself a +measure. 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 had +encompassed. + +Richard beat his hands together in a passion of dismay. “Is he not +here?” he asked, and groaned, “O God!” He flung himself all limp into a +chair. “You have heard the news, I see,” he said. + +“Not all of it,” said Diana hoarsely, leaning forward. “Tell us what +passed.” + +He moistened his lips with his tongue. “We were betrayed,” he said in a +quivering voice. “Betrayed! Did I but know by whom...” He broke off with +a bitter laugh and shrugged, rubbing his hands together and shivering +till his shoulders shook. “Blake's party was set upon by half a company +of musketeers. Their corpses are strewn about old Newlington's orchard. +Not one of them escaped. They say that Newlington himself is dead.” He +poured 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, cracked +voice, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “How? Perhaps it is just as well +that Blake has gone to his account. Perhaps...” He checked on the word, +and started to his feet; Diana screamed in sheer affright. Behind her +the windows had been thrust open so violently that one of the panes was +shivered. Blake stood under the lintel, scarce recognizable, so smeared +was 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 and +surveyed them for a moment, his aspect terrific. Then he leapt forward, +baring his sword as he came. An incoherent roar burst from his lips as +he bore straight down upon Richard. + +“You damned, infernal traitor!” he cried. “Draw, draw! Or die like the +muckworm that you are.” + +Intrepid, her terror all vanished now that there was the need for +courage, Ruth confronted him, barring his passage, a buckler to her +palsied 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 something +towards restoring him to his senses. + +His fierce eyes considered her a moment, and he controlled himself to +offer an explanation. “The twenty that were with me lie stark under +the stars in Newlington's garden,” he told her, as Richard had told her +already. “I escaped by a miracle, no less, but for what? Feversham will +demand of me a stern account of those lives, whilst if I am found in +Bridgwater there will be a short shrift for me at the rebel hands--for +my share in this affair is known, my name on every lip in the town. And +why?” he asked with a sudden increase of fierceness. “Why? Because that +craven villain there betrayed me.” + +“He did not,” she answered in so assured a voice that not only did it +give him pause, but caused Richard, cowering behind her, to raise his +head in wonder. + +Sir Rowland smiled his disbelief, and that smile, twisting his +blood-smeared countenance, was grotesque and horrible. “I left him to +guard 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 gave +him a safe task, and yet in that he failed me-failed me because he had +betrayed 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, and +bade her harshly stand aside. + +Diana, huddled together, watched and waited in horror for the end of +these consequences of her work. + +Blake made a sudden movement to win past Ruth. Richard staggered to his +feet intent on defending himself; but he was swordless; retreat to the +door 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 not +Richard who betrayed you. It... it was I.” + +“You?” The fierceness seemed all to drop away from him, whelmed in the +immensity of his astonishment. “You?” Then he laughed loud in scornful +disbelief. “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 looked +at Diana. “Oh, it is impossible!” he said at last. + +“You shall hear,” she answered, and told him how at the last moment she +had learnt not only that her husband was in Bridgwater, but that he was +to 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 when +I thought it would be too late for him to warn others. But you delayed +overlong, 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 sword +pointing towards her, and she closed her eyes, thinking that her sands +were run. And, indeed, Blake's intention was just then to kill her. That +he should owe his betrayal to her was in itself cause enough to +enrage him, but that her motive should have been her desire to save +Wilding--Wilding of all men!--that was the last straw. + +Had he been forewarned that Wilding was to be one of Monmouth's party at +Mr. Newlington's, his pulses would have throbbed with joy, and he would +have flung himself into his murderous task with twice the zest he had +carried to it. And now he learnt that not only had she thwarted his +schemes against Monmouth, but had deprived him of the ardently sought +felicity 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, and +bending himself--but whether to bow or not was not quite plain--he took +some paces backwards, then turned and went out by the window as he had +come. But there was a sudden purposefulness in the way he did it that +might have warned them this withdrawal was not quite the retreat it +seemed. + +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 the +palsy 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 a +semblance of resolution, his pale eyes looked stern, his white eyebrows +bent together in a frown. + +“Wait,” he said. They looked at him, and the shadow of a smile almost +flitted across Diana's face. He stepped to the door, and, opening it, +held it wide. “Go, Diana,” he said. “Ruth and I must understand each +other.” + +Diana hesitated. “You had better go, Diana,” said her cousin, whereupon +Mistress Horton went. + +Hot and fierce came the recriminations from Richard's lips when he and +his sister were alone, and Ruth weathered the storm bravely until it +was stemmed again by fresh fear in Richard. For Blake had suddenly +reappeared. He came forward from his window; his manner composed and +full of resolution. Young Westmacott recoiled, the heat all frozen out +of him. But Blake scarce looked at him, his smouldering glance was all +for Ruth, who watched him with incipient fear, despite herself. + +“Madam,” he said, “'tis not to be supposed a mind holding so much +thought for a husband's safety could find room for any concern as to +another's. I will ask you, natheless, to consider what tale I am to bear +Lord Feversham.” + +“What tale?” said she. + +“Aye--that will account for what has chanced; for my failure to +discharge the task entrusted me, and for the slaughter of an officer of +his and twenty men. + +“Why ask me this?” she demanded half angrily; then suddenly bethinking +her of how she had ruined his enterprise, and of the position in which +she 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 still +looked terrible enough. + +“Sorry!” said he, and laughed unpleasantly. “You'll come with me to +Feversham 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, and +coming forward. “What are you saying, Blake?” + +Sir Rowland disdained to heed him. “Come, mistress,” he said, and +putting forward his hand he caught her wrist and pulled her roughly +towards him. She struggled to free herself, but he leered evilly upon +her, no whit discomposed by her endeavours. Though short of stature, +he was a man of considerable bodily strength, and she, though tall, was +slight of frame. He released her wrist, and before she realized what he +was about he had stooped, passed an arm behind her knees, another round +her waist, and, swinging her from her feet, took her up bodily in his +arms. 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 over +his shoulder, for already he had turned about and was making for the +window, apparently no more hindered by his burden than had she been a +doll. + +Richard sprang to the door. “Jasper!” he bawled. “Jasper!” He had no +weapons, as we have seen, else it may be that he had made an attempt to +use them. + +Ruth got a hand free and caught at the windowframe as Blake was leaping +through. It checked their progress, but did not sensibly delay it. It +was unfortunately her wounded hand with which she had sought to cling, +and with an angry, brutal wrench Sir Rowland compelled her to unclose +her grasp. He sped down the lawn towards the orchard, where his horse +was tethered. And now she knew in a subconscious sort of way why he had +earlier withdrawn. He had gone to saddle for this purpose. + +She struggled now, thinking that he would be too hampered to compel her +to his will. He became angry, and set her down beside his horse, one arm +still holding her. + +“Look you, mistress,” he told her fiercely, “living or dead, you come +with 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 be +a gentleman and would recognize and respect a lady. Half fainting, she +allowed him to swing her to the withers of his horse. Thus they threaded +their 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 put +his horse to the trot, which he increased to a gallop when he was over +the bridge and clear of the town. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE SENTENCE + +Mr. Wilding, as we know, was to remain at Bridgwater for the purpose of +collecting from Mr. Newlington the fine which had been imposed upon him. +It is by no means clear whether Monmouth realized the fullness of +the tragedy at the merchant's house, and whether he understood that, +stricken with apoplexy at the thought of parting with so considerable a +portion of his fortune, Mr. Newlington had not merely fainted, but had +expired under His Grace's eyes. If he did realize it he was cynically +indifferent, and lest we should be doing him an injustice by assuming +this we had better give him the benefit of the doubt, and take it that +in the subsequent bustle of departure, his mind filled with the prospect +of 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. The +latter, as we know, had no place in the rebel army; although a man of +his hands, he was not a trained soldier, and notwithstanding that he may +fully have intended to draw his sword for Monmouth when the time came, +yet circumstances had led to his continuing after Monmouth's landing the +more diplomatic work of movement-man, in which he had been engaged for +the months that had preceded it. + +So it befell that when Monmouth's army marched out of Bridgwater at +eleven o'clock on that Sunday night, not to make for Gloucester and +Cheshire, as was generally believed, but to fall upon the encamped +Feversham at Sedgemoor and slaughter the royal army in their beds, Mr. +Wilding was left behind. Trenchard was gone, in command of his troop of +horse, and Mr. Wilding had for only company his thoughts touching the +singular happenings of that busy night. + +He went back to the sign of The Ship overlooking the Cross, and, kicking +off his sodden shoes, he supped quietly in the room of which shattered +door and broken window reminded him of his odd interview with Ruth, and +of the comedy of love she had enacted to detain him there. The +thought of it embittered him; the part she had played seemed to his +retrospective mind almost a wanton's part--for all that in name she was +his wife. And yet, underlying a certain irrepressible nausea, came the +reflection that, after all, her purpose had been to save his life. It +would have been a sweet thought, sweet enough to have overlaid that +other bitterness, had he not insisted upon setting it down entirely to +her gratitude and her sense of justice. She intended to repay the debt +in which she had stood to him since, at the risk of his own life +and fortune, he had rescued her brother from the clutches of the +Lord-Lieutenant at Taunton. + +He sighed heavily as he thought of the results that had attended his +compulsory wedding of her. In the intensity of his passion, in +the blindness of his vanity, which made him confident--gloriously +confident--that did he make himself her husband, she herself would make +of him her lover before long, he had committed an unworthiness of which +it seemed he might never cleanse himself in life. There was but one +amend, as he had told her. Let him make it, and perhaps she would--out +of gratitude, if out of no other feeling--come to think more kindly +of him; and that night it seemed to him as he sat alone in that mean +chamber that it were a better and a sweeter thing to earn some measure +of her esteem by death than to continue in a life that inspired her +hatred and resentment. From which it will be seen how utterly he +disbelieved the protestations she had uttered in seeking to detain him. +They were--he was assured--a part of a scheme, a trick, to lull him +while Monmouth and his officers were being butchered. And she had gone +the length of saying she loved him! He regretted that, being as he was +convinced 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 with +suggestions and this time with actual expression of affection--that she +might gain her ends: ends that concerned her brother and Sir Rowland +Blake. Sir Rowland Blake! The name was a very goad to his passion and +despair. + +He rose from the table and took a turn in the room, moving noiselessly +in his stockinged feet. He felt the need of air and action; the +weariness of his flesh incurred in his long ride from London was cast +off or forgotten. He must go forth. He picked up his fine shoes of +Spanish leather, but as luck would have it--little though he guessed the +extent just then--he found them hardening, though still damp from the +dews of Mr. Newlington's garden. He cast them aside, and, taking a key +from his pocket, unlocked an oak cupboard and withdrew the heavy muddy +boots in which he had ridden from town. He drew them on and, taking +up his hat and sword, went down the creaking stairs and out into the +street. + +Bridgwater had fallen quiet by now; the army was gone and townsfolk were +in their beds. Moodily, unconsciously, yet as if guided by a sort of +instinct, he went down the High Street, and then turned off into the +narrower lane that led in the direction of Lupton House. By the gates +of this he paused, recalled out of his abstraction and rendered aware +of whither his steps had led him by the sight of the hall door standing +open, a black figure silhouetted against the light behind it. What was +happening 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 the +open door had revealed him. The form came swiftly forward, its steps +pattering down the walk, another slenderer figure surged in its place +upon the threshold, hovered there an instant, then plunged down into the +darkness 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 has +been... carried off.” He got it out in gasps, winded by his short run +and 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 the +arm. “Blake has carried her off,” he cried. + +“Blake?” said Mr. Wilding, and wondered with a sensation of nausea was +it an ordinary running away. But Richard's next words made it plain to +him that it was no amorous elopement, nor even amorous abduction. + +“He has carried her to Feversham... for her betrayal of his to-night's +plan to seize the Duke.” + +That stirred Mr. Wilding. He wasted no time in idle questions or idler +complainings. “How long since?” he asked, and it was he who clutched +Richard 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 his +voice rising superior to his agitation and fears for Ruth. “You were at +hand, and could neither prevent nor follow him?” + +“I'll go with you now, if you'll give chase,” whimpered Richard, feeling +himself for once the craven that he was. + +“If?” echoed Wilding scornfully, and dragged him past the gate and up +towards 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 and +found the stable door open as Blake had left it. Old Jasper followed +with a lamp which burned steadily, so calm was the air of that July +night. In three minutes they had saddled a couple of nags; in five they +were 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 return +to-morrow,” Wilding explained, and he spoke almost mechanically, his +mind full of--anguished by--thoughts of Ruth. + +“Against the Duke's return?” cried Richard, first surprised and then +thinking that Wilding spoke at random. “Against the Duke's return?” he +repeated. + +“That is what I said?” + +“But the Duke is marching to Gloucester.” + +“The Duke is marching by circuitous ways to Sedgemoor,” answered +Wilding, never dreaming that at this time of day there could be the +slightest imprudence in saying so much, indeed, taking little heed of +what he said, his mind obsessed by the other, to him, far weightier +matter. + +“To Sedgemoor?” gasped Westmacott. + +“Aye--to take Feversham by surprise--to destroy King James's soldiers in +their beds. He should be near upon the attack by now. But there! Spur on +and save your breath if we are to overtake Sir Rowland.” + +They pounded on through the night at a breakneck pace which they never +slackened 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 of +the musketeers' matches glowing in the dark ahead of them. An outpost +barred their progress; but Richard had the watchword, and he spurred +ahead shouting “Albemarle,” and the soldiers fell back and gave them +passage. On they galloped, skirting Penzoy Pound and the army sleeping +in utter unconsciousness of the fate that was creeping stealthily upon +it out of the darkness and mists across the moors; they clattered on +past Langmoor Stone and dashed straight into the village, Richard never +drawing rein until he reached the door of the cottage where Feversham +was 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 in +addition to their object of finding Ruth. It was only now, as he drew +rein before the lighted house and caught the sound of Blake's raised +voice pouring through an open window on the ground floor, that Richard +fully realized what manner of rashness he was committing. He was too +late 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 Sir +Rowland before the latter reached his destination. But now--to enter +Feversham'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 not +savour. Indeed, had it not been for Wilding's masterful presence, it is +more than odds he had turned tail, and ridden home again to bed. + +But Wilding, who had leapt nimbly to the ground, stood waiting for +Richard to dismount, impatient now that from the sound of Sir Rowland's +voice he had assurance that Richard had proved an able guide. The young +man got down, but might yet have hesitated had not Wilding caught him +by the arm and whirled him up the steps, through the open door, past +the two soldiers who kept it, and who were too surprised to stay him, +straight into the long, low-ceilinged chamber where Feversham, attended +by a captain of horse, was listening to Blake's angry narrative of that +night's failure. + +Mr. Wilding's entrance was decidedly sensational. He stepped quickly +forward, and, taking Blake who was still talking, all unconscious of +those behind him, by the collar of his coat, he interrupted him in the +middle of an impassioned period, wrenched him backwards off his feet, +and dashed him with a force almost incredible into a heap in a corner of +the room. There for some moments the baronet lay half dazed by the shock +of his fall. + +A long table, which seemed to divide the chamber in two, stood between +Lord Feversham and his officer and Mr. Wilding and Ruth--by whose side +he had now come to stand in Blake's room. + +There was an exclamation, half anger, half amazement, at Mr. Wilding's +outrage upon Sir Rowland, and the captain of horse sprang forward. +But Wilding raised his hand, his face so composed and calm that it was +impossible to think him conceiving any violence, as indeed he protested +at that moment. + +“Be assured, gentlemen,” he said, “that I have no further rudeness to +offer any so that this lady is suffered to withdraw with me.” And he +took in his own a hand that Ruth, amazed and unresisting, yielded up to +him. That touch of his seemed to drive out her fears and to restore her +confidence; the mortal terror in which she had been until his coming +dropped from her now. She was no longer alone and abandoned to the +vindictiveness of rude and violent men. She had beside her one in whom +experience had taught her to have faith. + +Louis Duras, Marquis de Blanquefort, and Earl of Feversham, coughed with +mock discreetness under cover of his hand. “Ahem!” + +He was a comely man with a long nose, good low-lidded eyes, a humorous +mouth, 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 blue +satin dressing-gown stiff with gold lace, for he had been interrupted +by Blake's arrival in the very act of putting himself to bed, and his +head--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 sardonic +cough, stood, a red-faced, freckled boy, looking to his superior for +orders. + +“I t'ink you 'ave 'urt Sare Rowland,” said Feversham composedly in his +bad English. “Who are you, sare?” + +“This lady's husband,” answered Wilding, whereupon the captain stared +and Feversham's brows went up in surprised amusement. + +“So-ho! T'at true?” quoth the latter in a tone suggesting that it +explained everything to him. “T'is gif a differen' colour to your +story, Sare Rowlan'.” Then he added in a chuckle, “Ho, ho--l'amour!” and +laughed outright. + +Blake, gathering together his wits and his limbs at the same time, made +shift to rise. + +“What a plague does their relationship matter?” he began. He would have +added more, but the Frenchman thought this question one that needed +answering. + +“Parbleu!” he swore, his amusement rising. “It seem to matter +somet'ing.” + +“Damn me!” swore Blake, red in the face from pale that he had been. “Do +you conceive that if I had run away with his wife for her own sake I +had fetched her to you?” He lurched forward as he spoke, but kept his +distance 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 scenting +what appeared to be the comedy of an outraged husband overtaking the +man who had carried off his wife, forgot the serious business, a part +of which Sir Rowland had already imparted to him. Captain Wentworth--a +time-serving gentleman--smiled with this French general of a British +army that he might win the great man's favour. + +“I have told your lordship,” said Blake, froth on his lips, “that +the twenty men I had from you, as well as Ensign Norris, are dead in +Bridgwater, and that my plan to carry off King Monmouth has come to +ruin, all because we were betrayed by this woman. It is now my further +privilege 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 his +face. + +“Yes, yes, I remember,” said he; “t'is lady, you have tole us, betray +you. 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. He +was stunned by the question as the bird is stunned that flies headlong +against a pane of glass. He had crashed into an obstruction so +transparent that he had not seen it. + +“So!” said Feversham, and he stroked the cleft of his chin. “Captain +Wentwort', be so kind as to call t'e guard.” + +Wentworth moved to obey, but before he had gone round the table, Blake +had looked behind him and espied Richard shrinking by the door. + +“By heaven!” he cried, “I can more than answer your lordship's +question.” + +Wentworth stopped, looking at Feversham. + +“Voyons,” said the General. + +“I can place you in possession of the man who has wrought our ruin. He +is there,” and he pointed theatrically to Richard. + +Feversham looked at the limp figure in some bewilderment. Indeed, he was +having a most bewildering evening--or morning, rather, for it was even +then 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 had +just occurred to him that he held a card which should trump any trick of +Sir Rowland's vindictiveness, and the prospect heartened and comforted +him. + +“I am this lady's brother, my lord,” he answered, and his voice was +fairly 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 then +Wilding created a diversion by leading Ruth to a chair that stood at the +far end of the table, and drawing it forward for her. “Ah, yes,” said +Feversham 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, and +spoke a word to one of the soldiers without. + +“But, my lord,” exclaimed Blake in a tone of protest, “I vow you are too +ready 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 know +that it is Wilding?” + +The name certainly made an impression that might have flattered the man +to whom it belonged. Feversham's whole manner changed; the trivial air +of persiflage that he had adopted hitherto was gone on the instant, and +his brow grew dark. + +“T'at true?” he asked sharply. “Are you Mistaire Wildin'--Mistaire +Antoine Wildin'?” + +“Your lordship's most devoted servant,” said Wilding suavely, and made a +leg. + +Wentworth in the background paused in the act of reclosing the door to +stare at this gentleman whose name Albemarle had rendered so excellently +well known. + +“And you to dare come 'ere?” thundered Feversham, thoroughly roused +by 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,” he +reminded him. “It grieves me to intrude upon your lordship at so late an +hour, and indeed it was far from my intent. I had hoped to overtake Sir +Rowland before he reached you.” + +“Nom de Dieu!” swore Feversham. “Ho! A so great effrontery!” He swung +round upon Blake again. “Sare Rowlan',” he bade him angrily, “be so kind +to 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, level +voice, “that perhaps the tale would come more intelligibly from +me. 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 news +of it at the eleventh hour, and with a party of musketeers I was able +to 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 I +resented the attentions that were intended me. I had no knowledge that +Sir Rowland had contrived to escape, and, frankly, it is a thing I +deplore more than I can say, for had that not happened much trouble +might have been saved and your lordship's rest had not been disturbed.” + +“But t'e woman?” cried Feversham impatiently. “How is she come into this +galare?” + +“It was she who warned him,” Blake got out, “as already I have had the +honour to inform your lordship.” + +“And your lordship cannot blame her for that,” said Wilding. “The lady +is 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 only +when too late for interference. Sir Rowland, as it happened, was slow +in...” + +“Silence!” blazed the Frenchman. “Now t'at I know who you are, t'at make +a so great difference. Where is t'e guard, Wentwort'?” + +“I hear them,” answered the captain, and from the street came the tramp +of their marching feet. + +Feversham turned again to Blake. “T'e affaire 'as 'appen' so,” he +said, between question and assertion, summing up the situation as he +understood it. “T'is rogue,” and he pointed to Richard, “'ave betray +your plan to 'is sister, who betray it to 'er 'usband, who save t'e Duc +de Monmoot'. N'est-ce pas?” + +“That is so,” said Blake, and Ruth scarcely thought it worth while to +add that she had heard of the plot not only from her brother, but from +Blake as well. After all, Blake's attitude in the matter, his action in +bringing her to Feversham for punishment, and to exculpate himself, must +suffice to cause any such statement of hers to be lightly received by +the General. + +She sat in an anguished silence, her eyes wide, her face pale, and +waited for the end of this strange business. In her heart she did permit +herself to think that it would be difficult to assemble a group of +men less worthy of respect. Choleric and vindictive Blake, foolish +Feversham, stupid Wentworth, and timid Richard--even Richard did +not escape the unfavourable criticism they were undergoing in her +subconscious mind. Only Wilding detached in that assembly--as he had +detached in another that she remembered--and stood out in sharp relief a +very man, calm, intrepid, self-possessed; and if she was afraid, she was +more 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 who +betray you to t'is rogue?” + +“To Westmacott?” cried Blake. “He was in the plot with me. He was left +to guard the rear, to see that we were not taken by surprise, and he +deserted his post. Had he not done that, there had been no disaster, in +spite of Mr. Wilding's intervention.” + +Feversham's brow was dark, his eyes glittered as they rested on the +traitor. + +“T'at true, sare?” he asked him. + +“Not quite,” put in Mr. Wilding. “Mr. Westmacott, I think, was +constrained away. He did not intend...” + +“Tais-toi!” blazed Feversham. “Did I interrogate you? It is for Mistaire +Westercott to answer.” He set a hand on the table and leaned forward +towards Wilding, his face very malign. “You shall to answer for +yourself, Mistaire Wildin'; I promise you you shall to answer for +yourself.” He turned again to Richard. “Eh, bien?” he snapped. “Will you +speak?” + +Richard came forward a step; he was certainly nervous, and certainly +pale; but neither as pale nor as nervous as from our knowledge of +Richard we might have looked to see him at that moment. + +“It is in a measure true,” he said. “But what Mr. Wilding has said is +more exact. I was induced away. I did not dream any could know of the +plan, or that my absence could cause this catastrophe.” + +“So you went, eh, vaurien? You t'ought t'at be to do your duty, eh? And +it was you who tole your sistaire?” + +“I may have told her, but not before she had the tale already from +Blake.” + +Feversham sneered and shrugged. “Natural you will not speak true. A +traitor 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 the +threshold. “A la bonne heure!” his lordship hailed them. “Sergean', you +will arrest t'is rogue and t'is lady,”--he waved his hand from Richard +to 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 himself +between 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 no +traitor...” + +“In t'e mornin',” said Feversham blandly, waving his hand, and the +sergeant 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 you +little 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 sudden +interference. + +“Silence, Richard!” he cried to him. “Would you betray...?” He checked +on the word; more he dared not say; but he hoped faintly that he had +said enough. + +Feversham, however, chanced to observe that this man who had shown +himself hitherto so calm looked suddenly most singularly perturbed. + +“Eh?” quoth the General. “An instan', Sergean'. What is t'is, eh?”--and +he 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 arms +dramatically. “But no matter what your lordship's life may be hereafter, +you will never regret anything more bitterly than you shall regret this +by sunrise if indeed you live to see it.” + +Feversham shifted uneasily on his feet. “'What you say?” he asked. “What +you mean?” + +“You shall know at a price,” said Richard again. + +Wilding, realizing the hopelessness of interfering now, stood gloomily +apart, a great bitterness in his soul at the indiscretion he had +committed in telling Richard of the night attack that was afoot. + +“Your lordship shall hear my price, but you need not pay it me until you +have had an opportunity of verifying the information I have to give you. + +“Tell me,” said Feversham after a brief pause, during which he +scrutinized the young man's face. + +“If your lordship will promise liberty and safe-conduct to my sister and +myself.” + +“Tell me,” Feversham repeated. + +“When you have promised to grant me what I ask in return for my +information.” + +“Yes, if I t'ink your information is wort'” + +“I am content,” said Richard. He inclined his head and loosed the +quarrel of his news. “Your camp is slumbering, your officers are all +abed with the exception of the outpost on the road to Bridgwater. What +should you say if I told you that Monmouth and all his army are marching +upon you at this very moment, will probably fall upon you before another +hour is past?” + +Wilding uttered a groan, and his hands fell to his sides. Had Feversham +observed this he might have been less ready with his sneering answer. + +“A lie!” he answered, and laughed. “My fren', I 'ave myself been +to-night, at midnight, on t'e moore, and I 'ave 'eard t'e army of t'e +Duc 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 in +your beds, all unawares. Lord! sir, do not take my word for it. Send out +your scouts, and I dare swear they'll not need go far before they come +upon the enemy.” + +Feversham looked at Wentworth. His lordship's face had undergone a +change. + +“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 to +leave the room. “If you 'ave tole me true,” continued Feversham, turning +now to Richard, “you shall 'ave t'e price you ask, and t'e t'anks of t'e +King's army. But if not...” + +“Oh, it's true enough,” broke in Wilding, and his voice was like a +groan, 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 in +t'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's +words, and his men lined the wall of the chamber. The General bade +Richard be seated whilst he waited. Sir Rowland stood apart, leaning +wearily against the wainscot, waiting also, his dull wits not quite +clear how Richard might have come by so valuable a piece of information, +his evil spirit almost wishing it untrue, in his vindictiveness, to the +end that Richard might pay the price of having played him false and Ruth +the price of having scorned him. + +Feversham meanwhile was seeking--with no great success--to engage +Mr. Wilding in talk of Monmouth, against whom Feversham harboured in +addition to his political enmity a very deadly personal hatred; for +Feversham had been a suitor to the hand of the Lady Henrietta Wentworth, +the woman for whom Monmouth--worthy son of his father--had practically +abandoned his own wife; the woman with whom he had run off, to the great +scandal of court and nation. + +Despairing of drawing any useful information from Wilding, his lordship +was on the point of turning to Blake, when quick steps and the rattle of +a 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 have +believed possible in so phlegmatic-seeming a person, “it is true. We are +beset.” + +“Beset!” echoed Feversham. “Beset already?” + +“We can hear them moving on the moor. They are crossing the Langmoor +Rhine. They will be upon us in ten minutes at the most. I have roused +Colonel Douglas, and Dunbarton's regiment is ready for them.” + +Feversham exploded. “What else 'ave you done?” he asked. “Where is +Milor' Churchill?” + +“Lord Churchill is mustering his men as quietly as may be that they may +be ready to surprise those who come to surprise us. By Heaven, sir, we +owe a great debt to Mr. Westmacott. Without his information we might +have had all our throats cut whilst we slept.” + +“Be so kind to call Belmont,” said Feversham. “Tell him to bring my +clot'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 sounds +began to stir in the night outside to tell of a waking army. + +Feversham stood listening. “It is Dunbarton's,” he murmured. Then, with +some show of heat, “Ah, pardieu!” he cried. “But it was a dirty t'ing +t'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 than +the Bridgwater affair to which your lordship gave your sanction.” + +Feversham pursed his lips and considered the speaker. Wentworth +reentered, followed by the Earl's valet carrying an armful of garments. +His lordship threw off his dressing-gown and stood forth in shirt and +breeches. + +“Mais duche-toi, donc, Belmont!” said he. “Nous nous battons! Ii faut +que je m'habille.” Belmont, a little wizened fellow who understood +nothing of this topsy-turveydom, hastened forward, deposited his armful +on the table, and selected a finely embroidered waistcoat, which he +proceeded to hold for his master. Wriggling into it, Feversham rapped +out 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 at +once; you onderstan', eh? Good. Allons, Belmont! my cravat.” + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE EXECUTION + +Captain Wentworth clicked his heels together and saluted. Blake, in the +background, drew a deep breath--unmistakably of satisfaction, and his +eyes glittered. A muffled cry broke from Ruth, who rose instantly from +her chair, her hand on her bosom. Richard stood with fallen jaw, amazed, +a trifle troubled even, whilst Mr. Wilding started more in surprise than +actual fear, and approached the table. + +“You heard, sir,” said Captain Wentworth. + +“I heard,” answered Mr. Wilding quietly. “But surely not aright. One +moment, sir,” and he waved his hand so compellingly that, despite the +order he had received, the phlegmatic captain hesitated. + +Feversham, who had taken the cravat--a yard of priceless Dutch +lace--from the hands of his valet, and was standing with his back to the +company 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 are +surely not proposing to deal with me in this fashion--not seriously, my +lord?” + +“Ah, ca!” said the Frenchman. “T'ink it a jest if you please. What for +you come 'ere?” + +“Assuredly not for the purpose of being shot,” said Wilding, and +actually smiled. Then, in the tones of one discussing a matter that is +grave but not of surpassing gravity, he continued: “It is not that I +fail to recognize that I may seem to have incurred the rigour of the +law; but these matters must be formally proved against me. I have +affairs 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 adjustment +of his neckwear. + +“But, my lord,” insisted Wilding, “you have not the right--you have not +the power so to proceed against me. A man of my quality is not to be +shot without a trial.” + +“You can 'ang if you prefer,” said Feversham indifferently, drawing out +the ends of his cravat and smoothing them down upon his breast. He faced +about briskly. “Give me t'at coat, Belmont. His Majesty 'ave empower me +to 'ang or shoot any gentlemens of t'e partie of t'e Duc t'e Monmoot' on +t'e spot. I say t'at for your satisfaction. And look, I am desolate' to +be so quick wit' you, but please to consider t'e circumstance. T'e enemy +go to attack. Wentwort' must go to his regimen', and my ot'er +officers are all occupi'. You comprehen' I 'ave not t'e time to spare +you--n'est-ce-pas?”--Wentworth's hand touched Wilding on the shoulder. +He was standing with head slightly bowed, his brows knit in thought. He +looked round at the touch, sighed and smiled. + +Belmont held the coat for his master, who slipped into it, and flung +at Wilding what was intended for a consolatory sop. “It is fortune de +guerre, 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 to +startle 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 bent +forward, one hand wringing the other, her eyes almost wild, her bosom +heaving frantically. + +“Hum!” said Feversham, and he loosened and removed the scarf from his +head. He shrugged slightly and looked at Wentworth. “Finissons!” said +he. + +The word and the look snapped the trammels that bound Ruth's speech. + +“Five minutes, my lord!” she cried imploringly. “Give him five +minutes--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 whole +company. Feversham threw back his head; the signs of yielding left his +face. “Ha!” he cried. “T'ey are arrive.” He snatched his wig from his +lacquey's hands, donned it, and turned again an instant to the mirror +to 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 faced +about and took the sword his valet proffered. “Au revoir, messieurs!” + +“Serviteur, madame!” And, buckling his sword-belt as he went, he swept +out, leaving the door wide open, Belmont following, Wentworth saluting +and the guards presenting arms. + +“Come, sir,” said the captain in a subdued voice, his eyes avoiding +Ruth's face. + +“I am ready,” answered Wilding firmly, and he turned to glance at his +wife. + +She was bending towards him, her hands held out, such a look on her face +as almost drove him mad with despair, reading it as he did. He made a +sound deep in his throat before he found words. + +“Give me one minute, sir--one minute,” he begged Wentworth. “I ask no +more than that.” + +Wentworth was a gentleman and not ill-natured. But he was a soldier and +had received his orders. He hesitated between the instincts of the +two conditions. And what time he did so there came a clatter of hoofs +without 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 the +gratitude of his tone you might have inferred that it was his life +Wentworth had accorded him. + +The captain had already turned aside to address his men. “Two of you +outside, guard that window,” he ordered. “The rest of you, in the +passage. Bestir there!” + +“Take your precautions, by all means, sir,” said Wilding; “but I give +you my word of honour I shall attempt no escape.” + +Wentworth nodded without replying. His eye lighted on Blake--who had +been seemingly forgotten in the confusion--and on Richard. A kindliness +for the man who met his end so unflinchingly, a respect for so worthy an +enemy, 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 made +bold to remind the captain that he was failing in his duty, and that +he should make a point of informing the General of this anon. Wentworth +bade him go to the devil, and so was rid of him. + +Alone, inside that low-ceilinged chamber, stood Ruth and Wilding face +to face. He advanced towards her, and with a shuddering sob she flung +herself into his arms. Still, he mistrusted the emotion to which she +was a prey--dreading lest it should have its root in pity. He patted her +shoulder soothingly. + +“Nay, nay, little child,” he whispered in her ear. “Never weep for +me that have not a tear for myself. What better resolution of the +difficulties my folly has created?” For only answer she clung closer, +her hands locked about his neck, her slender body shaken by her silent +weeping. “Don't pity me,” he besought her. “I am content it should be +so. 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 to +his. + +“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 you +said 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,” he +said, and strove to smile. “Had I lived, who knows...?” + +“No, no, no,” she interrupted him passionately, her arms tightening +about his neck. He bent his head. Their lips met and clung. A knock +fell upon the door. They started, and Wilding raised his hands gently to +disengage her pinioning arms. + +“I must go, sweet,” he said. + +“God help me!” she moaned, and clung to him still. “It is I who am +killing you--I and your love for me. For it was to save me you rode +hither to-night, never pausing to weigh your own deadly danger. Oh, I +am punished for having listened to every voice but the voice of my own +heart where you were concerned. Had I loved you earlier--had I owned it +earlier...” + +“It had still been too late,” he said, more to comfort her than because +he knew it to be so. “Be brave for my sake, Ruth. You can be brave, I +know--so well. Listen, sweet. Your words have made me happy. Mar not +this happiness of mine by sending me out in grief at your grief.” + +Her response to his prayer was brave, indeed. Through her tears came a +faint 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 infinitely +tender. + +“Mr. Wilding!” Wentworth's voice called him, and the captain thrust the +door open a foot or so. “Mr. Wilding!” + +“I am coming,” he answered steadily. He kissed her again, and on that +kiss of his she sank against him, and he felt her turn all limp. He +raised his voice. “Richard!” he shouted wildly. “Richard!” + +At the note of alarm in his voice, Wentworth flung wide the door +and entered, Richard's ashen face showing over his shoulder. In her +brother's care Wilding delivered his mercifully unconscious wife. “See +to her, Dick,” he said, and turned to go, mistrusting himself now. +But he paused as he reached the door, Wentworth waxing more and more +impatient at his elbow. He turned again. + +“Dick,” he said, “we might have been better friends. I would we had +been. Let us part so at least,” and he held out his hand, smiling. + +Before so much gallantry Richard was conquered almost to the point of +worship; a weak man himself, there was no virtue he could more admire +than strength. He left Ruth in the high-backed chair in which Wilding's +tender hands had placed her, and sprang forward, tears in his eyes. He +wrung 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 of +musketeers of Dunbarton's regiment, his thoughts all behind him rather +than ahead, a smile on his lips. He had conquered at the last. He +thought of that other parting of theirs, nearly a month ago, on the road +by 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 of +love. + +And in that same crucible, too, Anthony Wilding's nature had undergone a +transmutation; his love for Ruth had been purified of that base alloy of +desire which had driven him into the unworthiness of making her his own +at all costs; there was no carnal grossness in his present passion; it +was pure as a religion--the love that takes no account of self, the love +that makes for joyous and grateful martyrdom. And a joyous and grateful +martyr would Anthony Wilding have been could he have thought that his +death would bring her happiness or peace. In such a faith as that he had +marched--or so he thought blithely to his end, and the smile on his lips +had been less wistful than it was. Thinking of the agony in which he had +left her, he almost came to wish--so pure was his love grown--that he +had not conquered. The joy that at first was his was now all dashed. His +death would cause her pain. His death! O God! It is an easy thing to be +a martyr; but this was not martyrdom; having done what he had done he +had not the right to die. The last vestige of the smile that he had worn +faded from his tight-pressed lips, tight-pressed as though to endure +some physical suffering. His face greyed, and deep lines furrowed +his brow. Thus he marched on, mechanically, amid his marching escort, +through the murky, fog-laden night, taking no heed of the stir about +them, for all Weston 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 joined +in earnest. Monmouth's surprise had aborted, and it passed through +Wilding's mind that to a great extent he was to blame for this. But it +gave him little care. + +At least his indiscretion had served the purpose of rescuing Ruth from +Lord Feversham's unclean clutches. For the rest, knowing that Monmouth's +army by far outnumbered Feversham's, he had no doubt that the advantage +must still lie with the Duke, in spite of Feversham's having been warned +in the eleventh hour. + +Louder grew the sounds of battle. Above the din of firing a swelling +chorus rose upon the night, startling and weird in such a time and +place. Monmouth's pious infantry went into action singing hymns, and +Wentworth, impatient to be at his post, bade his men go faster. + +The night was by now growing faintly luminous, and the deathly grey +light of approaching dawn hung in the mists upon the moor. Objects grew +visible in bulk at least, if not in form and shape, by the time the +little company had reached the end of Weston village and come upon +the deep mud dyke which had been Wentworth's objective--a ditch that +communicated with the great rhine that served the King's forces so well +on that night of Sedgemoor. + +Within some twenty paces of this Wentworth called a halt, and would have +had Wilding's hands pinioned behind him, and his eyes blindfolded, but +that Wilding begged him this might not be done. Wentworth was, as we +know, impatient; and between impatience and kindliness, perhaps, he +acceded to Wilding's prayer. + +He even hesitated a moment at the last. It was in his mind to speak some +word of comfort to the doomed man. Then a sudden volley, more terrific +than any that had preceded it, followed by hoarse cheering away to +eastward, quickened his impatience. He bade the sergeant lead Mr. +Wilding forward and stand him on the edge of the ditch. His object was +that thus the man's body would be disposed of without waste of time. +This Wilding realized, his soul rebelling against this fate which +had come upon him in the very hour when he most desired to live. Mad +thoughts of escape crossed his mind--of a leap across the dyke, and a +wild dash through the fog. But the futility of it was too appalling. +The musketeers were already blowing their matches. He would suffer the +ignominy of being shot in the back, like a coward, if he made any such +attempt. + +And so, despairing but not resigned, he took his stand on the very edge +of the ditch. In an irony of obligingness he set half of his heels over +the 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 that +last moment. The sergeant had moved away out of the line of fire, and he +stood there alone, waiting, erect and with his head held high, his +eyes upon the grey mass of musketeers--blurred alike by mist and +semi-darkness--some twenty paces distant along the line of which glowed +eight 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 the +faces of the musketeers, suffused by a dull red glow, sprang for a +moment out of the grey mass, to fade once more into the general greyness +at 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 standing +on the lip of the ditch was covered by the eight muskets. To the eyes of +the firing-party he was no more than a blurred shadowy form, showing a +little darker than the encompassing dark grey. + +“Give fire!” + +On the word Mr. Wilding lost the delicate, precarious balance he had +been sustaining on the edge of the ditch, and went over backwards, at +the imminent risk--as he afterwards related--of breaking his neck. +At the same instant a jagged, eight-pointed line of flame slashed the +darkness, and the thunder of the volley pealed forth to lose itself in +the 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. He +threw out his left arm, and rested his brow upon it to keep his face +above the mud. He strove to hold his breath, not that he might dissemble +death, but that he might avoid being poisoned by the foul gases that, +disturbed by his weight, bubbled up to choke him. His body half sank +and settled in the mud, and seen from above, as he was presently seen +by Wentworth--who ran forward with the sergeant's lanthorn to assure +himself that the work had been well done--he had all the air of being +not only dead but already half buried. + +And now, for a second, Mr. Wilding was in his greatest danger, and this +from the very humaneness of the sergeant. The fellow advanced to the +captain's side, a pistol in his hand. Wentworth held the light aloft and +peered down into that six feet of blackness at the jacent figure. + +“Shall I give him an ounce of lead to make sure, Captain?” quoth the +sergeant. 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, if +anything does. Come on, man. We are wanted yonder.” + +The light passed, steps retreated, the sergeant muttering, and then +Wentworth'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 receded +rapidly. + +Wilding was already sitting up, endeavouring to get a breath of purer +air. He rose to his feet, sinking almost to the top of his boots in +the oozy slime. Foul gases were belched up to envelop him. He seized +at irregularities in the bank, and got his head above the level of the +ground. He thrust forward his chin and took great greedy breaths in a +very gluttony of air--and never came Muscadine sweeter to a drunkard's +lips. He laughed softly to himself. He was alone and safe. Wentworth +and his men had disappeared. Away in the direction of Penzoy Pound the +sounds of battle swelled ever to a greater volume. Cannons were booming +now, and all was uproar--flame and shouting, cheering and shrieking, +the thunder of hastening multitudes, the clash of steel, the pounding of +horses, all blent to make up the horrid din of carnage. + +Mr. Wilding listened, and considered what to do. His first impulse was +to join the fray. But, bethinking him that there could be little place +for him in the confusion that must prevail by now, he reconsidered the +matter, and his thoughts returning to Ruth--the wife for whom he had +been at such pains to preserve himself on the very brink of death--he +resolved to endanger himself no further for that night. + +He dropped back into the ditch, and waded, ankle deep in slime, to the +other side. There he crawled out, and gaining the moor lay down awhile +to breathe his lungs. But not for long. The dawn was creeping pale and +ghostly across the solid earth, and a faint fresh breeze was stirring +and driving the mist in wispy shrouds before it. If he lingered there he +might yet be found by some party of Royalist soldiers, and that would be +to undo all that he had done. He rose, and struck out across the peaty +ground. None knew the moors better than did he, and had he been with +Grey'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 now +Richard would be on his way thither with Ruth, and Wilding was in haste +that she should be reassured that he had not fallen to the muskets +of Wentworth's firing-party. But Bridgwater was far, and he began +to realize, now that all excitement was past, that he was utterly +exhausted. 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. Gervase +had shown no sympathy for Monmouth or his partisans, and whilst he would +hardly go so far as to refuse Mr. Wilding shelter, still Wilding felt an +aversion to seeking what might be grudged him. At last he bethought him +of home. Zoyland Chase was near at hand; but he had not been there since +his wedding-day, and in the mean time he knew that it had been used as +a barrack for the militia, and had no doubt that it had been wrecked and +plundered. 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 wasted +forces. + +A half-hour later he dragged himself wearily up the avenue between the +elms--looking white as snow in the pale July dawn--to the clearing in +front of his house. + +Desertion was stamped upon the face of it. Shattered windows and hanging +shutters everywhere. How wantonly they had wrecked it! It might have +been a church, and the militia a regiment of Cromwell's iconoclastic +Puritans. The door was locked, but going round he found a window--one +of the door-windows of his library--hanging loose upon its hinges. He +pushed it wide, and entered with a heavy heart. Instantly something +stirred in a corner; a fierce growl was followed by a furious bark, and +a lithe brown body leapt from the greater into the lesser shadows to +attack the intruder. But at one word of his the hound checked suddenly, +crouched an instant, then with a queer, throaty sound bounded forward in +a wild delight that robbed it on the instant of its voice. It found it +anon and leapt about him, barking furious joy in spite of all his +vain endeavours to calm it. He grew afraid lest the dog should draw +attention. He knew not who--if any--might be in possession of his +house. The library, as he looked round, showed a scene of wreckage that +excellently matched the exterior. Not a picture on the walls, not an +arras, but had been rent to shreds. The great lustre that had hung +from the centre of the ceiling was gone. Disorder reigned along +the bookshelves, and yet there and elsewhere there was a certain +orderliness, suggesting an attempt to straighten up the place after +the ravagers had departed. It was these signs made him afraid the house +might be tenanted by such as might prove his enemies. + +“Down, Jack,” he said to the dog for the twentieth time, patting its +sleek head. “Down, down!” + +But still the dog bounded about him, barking wildly. + +“Sh!” he hissed suddenly. Steps sounded in the hall. It was as he +feared. The door was suddenly thrown open, and the grey morning light +gleamed upon the long barrel of a musket. After it, bearing it, entered +a white-haired old man. + +He paused on the threshold, measuring the tall disordered stranger who +stood there, his figure a black silhouette against the window by which +he had entered. + +“What seek you here, sir, in this house of desolation?” asked the voice +of 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 back +against the doorpost and leaned there an instant; then, whimpering and +laughing, he came tottering forward--his old legs failing him in this +excess of unexpected joy--and sank on his knees to kiss his master's +hand. + +Wilding patted the old head, as he had patted the dog's a little while +ago. He was oddly moved; there was a knot in his throat. No home-coming +could well have been more desolate. And yet, what home-coming could have +brought him such a torturing joy as was now his? Oh, it is good to be +loved, 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, scrutinizing +Wilding's haggard face and disordered, filthy clothes. He broke into +exclamations between dismay and reproach, but these Wilding interrupted +to 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 not +been for that, I scarcely think they would have harmed an old man. They +were brave fellows for all the mischief they did here, and they seemed +to have little heart in the service of the Popish King. It was +the officers drove them on to all this damage, and once they'd +started--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 did +some woeful, wanton mischief.” + +Wilding sighed. “It's little matter, perhaps, as the place is no longer +mine. + +“No... no longer yours, sir?” + +“I'm an attainted outlaw, Walters,” he explained. “They'll bestow it on +some Popish time-server, unless King Monmouth can follow up by greater +victories 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 himself +in a dressing-gown and laid himself down to sleep on a settle in the +library, his servant and his dog on guard. + +Not above an hour, however, was he destined to enjoy his hard-earned +rest. The light had grown, meanwhile, and from grey it had turned +golden, the heralds of the sun being already in the east. In the +distance the firing had died down to a mere occasional boom. + +Suddenly old Walters raised his head to listen. The beat of hoofs was +drawing rapidly near, so near that presently he rose in alarm, for +a horseman was pounding up the avenue, had drawn rein at the main +entrance. + +Walters knit his brows in perplexity, and glanced at his master who +slept on utterly worn out. A silent pause followed, lasting some +minutes. 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. He +tiptoed softly across the room, picked up his musket, and, calling the +dog, went out, a great fear in his heart, but not for himself. + +The rapping continued, growing every instant more urgent, so urgent that +Walters was almost reassured. Here was no enemy, but surely some one +in need. Walters opened at last, and Mr. Trenchard, grimy of face and +hands, his hat shorn of its plumes, his clothes torn, staggered with an +oath across the threshold. + +“Walters!” he cried. “Thank God! I thought you'd be here, but I wasn't +certain. 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 is +he, 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 flung +wide the library door. “Anthony!” he shouted. “Anthony!” And in the +background 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 to +Bridgwater 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. Monmouth +is in full flight with what's left him of his horse. When I quitted the +field, he was riding hard for Polden Hill.” He dropped into a chair, his +accents 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--that +Feversham had been forewarned. “But how lost?” he cried a moment later. + +“Ask Grey,” snapped Trenchard. “Ask his craven, numskulled lordship. He +had as good a hand in losing it as any. Oh, it was all most infernally +mishandled, as has been everything in this ill-starred rising. Grey sent +back Godfrey, the guide, and attempted in the dark to find his own way +across the rhine. He missed the ford. What else could the fool have +hoped? And when he was discovered and Dunbarton's guns began to play on +us--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; but +all too late. The enemy was up, and with that damned ditch between us +there was no getting to close quarters with them. Had Grey ridden round, +and sought to turn their flank, things might have been--O God!--they +would have been entirely different. I did suggest it. But for my pains +Grey 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 chin +in his hands, his eyes set and grim as Trenchard's own. Then he mastered +himself, 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 and +went 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 went +there 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 there +was 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 his +wife. + +“To Bridgwater?” blazed Trenchard, in a passion at the folly of the +suggestion. “You're clearly mad! All the King's forces will be there in +an hour or two.” + +“No matter,” said Wilding, “I must go. I am dead already, as it +happens.” And he related his singular adventure in Feversham's camp last +night. + +Trenchard heard him in amazement. If any suspicion crossed his mind that +his friend's love affairs had had anything to do with rousing Feversham +prematurely, he showed no sign of it. But he shook his head at Wilding's +insistence 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 their +preparations. There were still a couple of nags in the stables, in spite +of the visitation of the militia, and Walters was able to find fresh +clothes for Mr. Trenchard above-stairs. + +A half-hour later they were ready to set out on this forlorn hope of +escape; the horses were at the door, and Mr. Wilding was in the act +of 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 sat +bemused a moment. + +Trenchard, watching him, waxed impatient. “What ails you now?” he +croaked. + +Without answering him, Wilding turned to Walters. “Where are the boots +I 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 his +master were newer and sounder. Wilding interrupted him impatiently. “Do +as I bid you, Walters.” And the old man, understanding nothing, went off +on the errand. + +“A pox on your boots!” swore Trenchard. “What does this mean?” + +Wilding seemed suddenly to have undergone a transformation. His gloom +had fallen from him. He looked up at his old friend and, smiling, +answered him. “It means, Nick, that whilst these excellent boots that +Walters would have me wear might be well enough for a ride to the coast +such as you propose, they are not at all suited to the journey I intend +to make.” + +“Maybe,” said Nick with a sniff, “you're intending to journey to Tower +Hill?” + +“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 boots +Trenchard was walking up and down the room in an odd agitation. “Odds my +life, 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 and +smacked 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 his +wedding and post-nuptial winning of Ruth Westmacott, to relate certain +matters of incident and personality that may be accounted strange. But +the strangest yet remains to be related. For in spite of all that had +passed between Sir Rowland Blake and the Westmacotts on that memorable +night of Sunday to Monday, on which the battle of Sedgemoor was lost +and won, towards the end of that same month of July we find him not only +back at Lupton House, but once again the avowed suitor of Mr. Wilding's +widow. For effrontery this is a matter of which it is to be doubted +whether history furnishes a parallel. Indeed, until the circumstances +are sifted it seems wild and incredible. So let us consider these. + +On the morrow of Sedgemoor, the town of Bridgwater became +invested--infested were no whit too strong a word--by the King's forces +under Feversham and the odious Kirke, and there began a reign of terror +for the town. The prisons were choked with attainted and suspected +rebels. From Bridgwater to Weston Zoyland the road was become an avenue +of gallows, each bearing its repulsive grimace-laden burden; for the +King'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 that +were perpetrated during that hideous week of July, when no man's life +was safe from the royal butchers. The awful campaign of Jeffries and +his four associates was yet to follow, but it is doubtful if it could +compare in ruthlessness with that of Feversham and Kirke. At least, when +Jeffries came, men were given a trial--or what looked like it--and there +remained them a chance, however slender, of acquittal, as many lived to +prove thereafter. With Feversham there was no such chance. And it was +of this circumstance that Sir Rowland Blake took the fullest and the +cowardliest advantage. + +There can be no doubt that Sir Rowland was a villain. It might be +urged for him that he was a creature of circumstance, and that had +circumstances been other it is possible he had been a credit to his +name. But he was weak in character, and out of that weakness he had +developed a Herculean strength in villainy. Failure had dogged him in +everything he undertook. Broken at the gaming-tables, hounded out of +town by creditors, he was in desperate straits to repair his fortunes +and, as we have seen, he was not nice in his endeavours to achieve that +end. + +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 had +suffered it in all things else. But Sir Rowland did not yet acknowledge +himself beaten, and the Bridgwater reign of terror dealt him a fresh +hand--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 himself +mad in what he had done on that Sunday night--mad with despair and rage +at having been defeated in the noble task to which he had turned his +hands. His penitence might have had little effect upon the Westmacotts +had he not known how to insinuate that it might be best for them to lend +an ear to it--and a forgiving one. + +“You will tell Mr. Westmacott, Jasper,” he had said, when Jasper told +him that they could not receive him, “that he would be unwise not to see +me, and the same to Mistress Wilding.” + +And old Jasper had carried his message, and had told Richard of the +wicked 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 Weston +Zoyland. A transformation seemed to have been wrought in him as odd as +it was sudden, and it dated from the moment when with tears in his +eyes he had wrung Wilding's hand in farewell. Where precept had failed, +Richard found himself converted by example. He contrasted himself in +that stressful hour with great-souled Anthony Wilding, and saw himself +as he was, a weakling, strong only in vicious ways. Repentance claimed +him; repentance and a fine ambition to be worthier, to resemble as +nearly as his nature would allow him this Anthony Wilding whom he took +for pattern. He changed his ways, abandoned drink and gaming, and gained +thereby 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 pendulum +threatened 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 from +the grave; Thou hast kept me alive that I should not go down to the +pit!” + +But underlying all this remained unfortunately the inherent weakness of +his nature--indeed, it was that very weakness and malleability made this +sudden and wholesale conversion possible. + +Upon hearing Sir Rowland's message his heart fainted, despite his good +intentions, and he urged that perhaps they had better hear what the +baronet might have to say. + +It was three days after Sedgemoor Fight, and poor Ruth was worn and +exhausted with her grief--believing Wilding dead, for he had sent no +message to inform her of his almost miraculous preservation. The thing +he went to do in London was fraught with such peril that he foresaw +but the slenderest chance of escaping with his life. Therefore, he had +argued, why console her now with news that he lived, when in a few days +the headsman might prove that his end had been but postponed? To do so +might be to give her cause to mourn him twice. Again he was haunted by +the thought that, in spite of all, it may have been pity that had so +grievously moved her at their last meeting. Better, then, to wait; +better for both their sakes. If he came safely through his ordeal it +would be time enough to bear her news of his preservation. + +In deepest mourning, very white, with dark stains beneath her eyes +to tell the tale of anguished vigils, she received Sir Rowland in the +withdrawing-room, her brother at her side. To his expressions of +deep penitence he found them cold; so he passed on to show them what +disastrous results might ensue upon a stubborn maintaining of this +attitude of theirs towards him. + +“I have come,” he said, his eyes downcast, his face long-drawn, for he +could play the sorrowful with any hypocrite in England, “to do something +more than speak of my grief and regret. I have come to offer proof of it +by service. + +“We ask no service of you, sir,” said Ruth, her voice a sword of +sharpness. + +He sighed, and turned to Richard. “This were folly,” he assured his +whilom friend. “You know the influence I wield.” + +“Do I?” quoth Richard, his tone implying doubt. + +“You think that the bungled matter at Newlington's may have shaken it?” + quoth Blake. “With Feversham, perhaps. But Albemarle, remember, trusts +me very fully. There are ugly happenings in the town here. Men are being +hung like linen on a washing-day. Be not too sure that yourself are +free from all danger.” Richard paled under the baronet's baleful, +half-sneering glance. “Be not in 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 of +them. “Is it to threaten to promise you my protection; to show you how I +can serve you?--than which I ask no sweeter boon of heaven. A word from +me, and Richard need fear nothing.” + +“He need fear nothing without that word,” said Ruth disdainfully. “Such +service as he did Lord Feversham the other night...” + +“Is soon forgotten,” Blake cut in adroitly. “Indeed, 'twill be most +convenient to his lordship to forget it. Think you he would care to have +it known that 'twas to such a chance he owes the preservation of his +army?” He laughed, and added in a voice of much sly meaning, “The times +are full of peril. There's Kirke and his lambs. And there's no saying +how Kirke might act did he chance to learn what Richard failed to do +that 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 who knows of it?” cried Blake. “Oh, madam, why will +you ever do me such injustice? Richard has been my friend--my dearest +friend. I wish him so to continue, and I swear that he shall find me +his, as you shall find me yours.” + +“It is a boon I could dispense with,” she assured him, and rose. “This +talk can profit little, Sir Rowland,” said she. “You seek to bargain.” + +“You shall see how unjust you are,” he cried with deep sorrow. “It is +but fitting, perhaps, after what has passed. It is my punishment. But +you shall come to acknowledge that you have done me wrong. You shall see +how I shall befriend and protect him.” + +That said, he took his leave and went, but he left behind him a shrewd +seed of fear in Richard's mind, and of the growth that sprang from it +Richard almost unconsciously transplanted something in the days that +followed into the heart of Ruth. As a result, to make sure that no harm +should come to her brother, the last of his name and race, she resolved +to receive Sir Rowland, resolved in spite of Diana's outspoken scorn, in +spite of Richard's protests--for though afraid, yet he would not have it +so--in spite even of her own deep repugnance of the man. + +Days passed and grew to weeks. Bridgwater was settling down to peace +again--to peace and mourning; the Royalist scourge had spread to +Taunton, and Blake lingered on at Lupton House, an unwelcome but an +undeniable guest. + +His presence was as detestable to Richard now as it was to Ruth, for +Richard had to submit to the mockery with which the town rake lashed his +godly bearing and altered ways. More than once in gusts of sudden valour +the boy urged his sister to permit him to drive the baronet from the +house and let him do his worst. But Ruth, afraid for Richard, bade him +wait until the times were more settled. When the royal vengeance had +slaked its lust for blood it might matter little, perhaps, what tales +Sir Rowland might elect to carry. + +And so Sir Rowland remained and waited. He assured himself that he knew +how to be patient, and congratulated himself upon that circumstance. +Wilding dead, a little time must now suffice to blunt the sharp edge of +his widow's grief; let him but await that time, and the rest should be +easy, the battle his. With Richard he did not so much as trouble himself +to reckon. + +Thus he determined, and thus no doubt he would have acted but for an +unforeseen contingency. A miserable, paltry creditor had smoked him out +in his Somerset retreat, and got a letter to him full of dark hints of +a debtor's gaol. The fellow's name was Swiney, and Sir Rowland knew him +for fierce and pertinacious where a defaulting creditor was concerned. +One only course remained him: to force matters with Wilding's widow. For +days he refrained, fearing that precipitancy might lose him all; it was +his wish to do the thing without too much coercion; some, he was not +coxcomb enough to think--coxcomb though he was--might be dispensed with. + +At last one Sunday evening he decided to be done with dallying, and to +bring Ruth between the hammer and the anvil of his will. It was the +last Sunday in July, exactly three weeks after Sedgemoor, and the +odd coincidence of his having chosen such a day and hour you shall +appreciate anon. + +They were on the lawn taking the cool of the evening after an +oppressively hot day. By the stone seat, now occupied by Lady Horton +and 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 the +baronet by way of gaining yet his ends--chid Richard in strong terms for +his weakness in submitting to Blake's constant presence at Lupton House. +And Richard meekly took her chiding and promised that, if Ruth would but +sanction it, things should be changed upon the morrow. + +Sir Rowland, all unconscious--reckless, indeed--of this, sauntered with +Ruth some little distance from them, having contrived adroitly to draw +her aside. He broke a spell of silence with a dolorous sigh. + +“Ruth,” said he pensively, “I mind me of the last evening on which you +and I walked here alone.” + +She flashed him a glance of fear and aversion, and stood still. Under +his brow he watched the quick heave of her bosom, the sudden flow and +abiding ebb of blood in her face--grown now so thin and wistful--and he +realized 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 her +soul. He sat a hand upon her arm. “Wait!” said he, and the tone in +which he uttered that one word kept her beside him. His manner changed a +little. “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 sorrow +and 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 it +been herself he desired, surely that tone had quenched all passion in +him, or else transformed it into hatred. But Blake was playing for a +fortune, for shelter from a debtor's prison. + +“It has become known,” he continued, “that Richard was one of the early +plotters who paved the way for Monmouth's coming. I think that that, in +conjunction with his betrayal of his trust that night at Newlington's, +thereby causing the death of some twenty gallant fellows of King +James's, will be enough to hang him.” + +Her hand clutched at her heart. “What is't you seek?” she cried. It was +almost a moan. “What is't you want of me?” + +“Yourself,” said he. “I love you, Ruth,” he added, and stepped close up +to her. + +“O God!” she cried aloud. “Had I a man at hand to kill you for that +insult!” + +And then--miracle of miracles!--a voice from the shrubs by which they +stood bore to her ears the startling words that told her her prayer was +answered there and then. + +“Madam, that man is here.” + +She stood frozen. Not more of a statue was Lot's wife in the moment of +looking behind her than she who dared not look behind. That voice! A +voice from the dead, a voice she had heard for the last time in the +cottage that was Feversham's lodging at Weston Zoyland. Her wild eyes +fell upon Sir Rowland's face. It showed livid; the nether-lip sucked +in and caught in the strong teeth, as if to prevent an outcry; the eyes +wild with fright. What did it mean? By an effort she wrenched herself +round at last, and a scream broke from her to rouse her aunt, her +cousin, and her brother, and bring them hastening towards her across the +sweep of lawn. + +Before her, on the edge of the shrubbery, a grey figure stood erect and +graceful, and the face, with its thin lips faintly smiling, its dark +eyes gleaming, was the face of Anthony Wilding. And as she stared he +moved forward, and she heard the fall of his foot upon the turf, the +clink of his spurs, the swish of his scabbard against the shrubs, and +reason 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 my +coming was so timely that I could not hold in my answer to your cry.” + +Her eyelids fluttered, she drew a long sighing breath, and nestled +closer to him. “Anthony!” she murmured again, and reached up a hand to +stroke 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 withdrew +it, leaving the weapon sheathed. Here was a hangman's job, not a +swordsman's, he opined--and wisely, for he had had earlier experience of +Mr. 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 his +friend's approach. “A Mr. Swiney. 'Twas I sent him from town. He's +lodged at the Bull, and bellows like one when he speaks of what you owe +him. There are three messengers with him, and they tell of a debtor's +gaol for you, sweetheart.” + +A spasm of fury crossed the face of Blake. “They may have me, and +welcome, when I've told my tale,” said he. “Let me but tell of Anthony +Wilding's lurking here, and not only Anthony Wilding, but all the rest +of you are doomed for harbouring him. You know the law, I think,” he +mocked 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 better +before the night is out, and better still before next Sunday's come.” + +“Tush!” said Trenchard, and quoted, “'There's none but Anthony may +conquer 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 servant +of 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 to +Trenchard. + +“Show it him,” said he, and Blake's face grew white again as he read the +lines above Sunderland's signature and observed the seals of office. He +looked from the paper to the hated smiling face of Mr. Wilding. + +“You were a spy?” he said, his tone making a question of the odious +statement. “A dirty spy?” + +“Your incredulity is flattering, at least,” said Wilding pleasantly as +he repocketed the parchment, “and it leads you in the right direction. I +neither was nor am a spy.” + +“That paper proves it!” cried Blake contemptuously. Having been a spy +himself, he was a good judge of the vileness of the office. + +“See to my wife, Nick,” said Wilding sharply, and made as if to transfer +her to the care of his friend. + +“Nay,” said Trenchard, “'tis your own duty that. Let me discharge the +other for you.” And he stepped up to Blake and tapped him briskly on the +shoulder. “Sir Rowland,” said he, “you're a knave.” Sir Rowland stared +at him. “You're a foul thing--a muckworm--Sir Rowland,” added Trenchard +amiably, “and you've been discourteous to a lady, for which may Heaven +forgive 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 can +settle what other affairs you please--including, belike, your business +with 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 own +diversions. Sir Rowland,” he reminded the baronet, “I have called you a +knave and a foul thing, and faith! if you want it proven, you need but +step down the orchard with me.” + +He saw hesitation lingering in Sir Rowland's face, and he uncurled the +last of the whip he carried. “I'd grieve to do a violent thing before +the ladies,” he murmured deprecatingly. “I'd never respect myself again +if I had to drive a gentleman of your quality to the ground of honour +with a horsewhip. But, as God's my life, if you don't go willingly this +instant, 'tis what will happen.” + +Richard's newborn righteousness prompted him to interfere, to seek to +avert this threatened bloodshed; his humanity urged him to let matters +be, and his humanity prevailed. Diana watched this foreshadowing of +tragedy 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 not +whether to exult or weep. Her mother--understanding nothing--plied her +meanwhile with whispered questions. + +As for Sir Rowland, he looked into the old rake's eyes agleam with +wicked 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 to +the orchard. + +Ruth, reviving, looked up. Her glance met Mr. Wilding's; it quickened +into 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 go +as best shall seem to me.” He begged the others to leave them a little +while, and he led her to the stone seat by the river. He set her at his +side 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 use +of the letter in his boot which Sunderland had given him for Monmouth +in the hour of panic. Monmouth's cavalier treatment of him when he had +arrived in Bridgwater had precluded his delivering that letter at the +council. There was never another opportunity, nor did he again think of +the package in the stressful hours that followed. It was not until the +following morning that he suddenly remembered it lay undelivered, and +bethought him that it might prove a weapon to win him delivery from the +dangers that encompassed him. + +“It was a slender chance,” he told her, “but I employed it. I waited in +London, in hiding, close upon a fortnight ere I had an opportunity of +seeing Sunderland. He laughed me to scorn at first, and threatened me +with the Tower. But I told him the letter was in safe hands and would +remain there in earnest of his good behaviour, and that did he have me +arrested it would instantly be laid before the King and bring his own +head to the block more surely even than my own. It frightened him; but +it had scarcely done so, sweet, had he known that that precious letter +was still in my boot, for my boot was on my leg, and my leg was in the +room with the rest of me. + +“He surrendered at last, and gave me papers proving that Trenchard +and I--for I stipulated for old Nick's safety too--were His Majesty's +accredited agents in the West. I loathed the title. But...”--he spread +his hands and smiled--“it was that or widowing you.” + +She took his face in her hands and stroked it fondly, and they sat thus +until a dry cough behind them roused them from their joyous silence. Mr. +Trenchard was sauntering towards them, his left eye tucked farther under +his 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's +altered ways. + +“I've thought of it; but haply he's sensitive on the score of drinking +with me again. He has done it twice to his undoing.” + +“He'll do it a third time, no doubt,” said Mr. Wilding curtly, and +Trenchard, taking the hint, turned with a shrug, and went up the lawn +towards the house. He found Richard in the porch, where he had +lingered 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 were +some matter long forgotten. He sighed. “Alas, poor Swiney! I fear I've +cheated him.” + +“You mean?” + +“Art slow at inference, Dick. Sir Rowland has passed away in the odour +of villainy.” + +Richard clasped nervous hands together and raised his colourless eyes to +heaven. + +“May the Lord have mercy on his soul!” said he. + +“May He, indeed!” said Trenchard, when he had recovered from his +surprise. “But,” he added pessimistically, “I doubt the rogue's in +hell.” + +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 not +made my foes to rejoice over me.'” + +Dumbfounded, wondering, indeed, was Westmacott's mind unhinged, +Trenchard scanned him narrowly. Richard caught the glance and +misinterpreted it for one of reproof. He bethought him that his joy was +unrighteous. He stifled it, and forced his lips to sigh “Poor Blake!” + +“Poor, indeed!” quoth Trenchard, and adapted a remembered line of his +play-acting days to suit the case. “The tears live in an onion that +shall water his grave. Though, perhaps, I am forgetting Swiney.” Then, +in a brisker tone, “Come, Richard. What like is the muscadine you keep +at Lupton House?” + +“I have abjured all wine,” said Richard. + +“A plague you have!” quoth Trenchard, understanding less and less. “Have +you turned Mussulman, perchance?” + +“No,” answered Richard sternly; “Christian.” + +Trenchard hesitated, rubbing his nose thoughtfully. “Hum,” said he at +length. “Peace be with you, then. I'll leave you here to bay the moon +to your heart's content. Perhaps Jasper will know where to find me a +brain-wash.” And with a final suspicious, wondering look at the whilom +bibber, he passed into the house, much exercised on the score of the +sanity 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 befriended +her, a veil for her sudden confusion. She breathed something that seemed +no more than a sigh, though more it seemed to Anthony Wilding. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mistress Wilding, by Rafael +Sabatini + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1457 *** |