"Aye--to me, Bet, why not i' faith! And--though a Whig----"

"A flapdragon!" exclaimed my lady.

"I say though a Whig he is as ready to aid Charles into safety as you or I. Nay, he hath even proffered to harbour him in his own house."

"Mm!" said my lady, smiling down at her roses, "I wonder why a Whiggish soldier should run such risk for Charles, a stranger?"

"Because the Major chances to be the best, the bravest, the most unselfish gentleman I have the honour to know!" replied the Viscount.

"Dear Pancras!" she sighed, "an you would talk with Charles, you shall, so come your ways and be silent--Pancras dear!"

So she brought him into the house and, finger on lip, led him up back stairways and along seldom used pa.s.sages to a door small but remarkably strong; here she paused to reach a key from a dark corner, a key of ma.s.sive proportions at sight of which the Viscount whistled.

"You see, Pan," she explained, fitting it to the lock, "Charles is quite determined to get away at once for my sake, but I'm quite determined he shall stay for his own sake, until I judge him sufficiently recovered, and--hark to him, Pan, hark to my naughty child!" She laughed as an impatient fist thumped the stout door from within and a m.u.f.fled voice reached them. "Be silent, sir!" she commanded. Followed a sulky muttering, the door swung open and my lord of Medhurst appeared, petulant and eager:

"What Pan!" he cried. "What Tom--Tommy lad! Y'see how she treats me!"

"Hush!" exclaimed my lady, closing the door.

"Gad, Charles!" exclaimed the Viscount as they embraced, "you're thin and pale, is't your wound?"

"Nay--nay, I vow I'm well enough, Tom----"

"But I protest art worn to a shadow----"

"A shadow--aha!" His lordship laughed gaily. "Say a shade, Tom, a ghost and you're in the right with a vengeance. But tell me the latest town news, Tommy, who's in and who's out? Stands London where it did----"

"Nay first, Charles, I'm here to smuggle you away to my Suss.e.x place there to keep you hid until I can arrange for you to cross into France.

'Twill be the simplest matter i' the world, Charles, I'll have a couple of fast horses in the lane at midnight, we shall reach my place by dawn or thereabouts. How say you?"

"Why I say, dear lad, 'tis all very well but you forget one thing."

"And that?"

"Your own risk, Pan."

"Tush!" exclaimed the Viscount.

"Quite so, Tom," nodded my lord, "but d'ye dream I'd ever shelter myself behind thy faithful friendship? How say you, Bet?"

"Spoken like my own Charles!" she answered and clasping her arm about him set her cheek to his, and the Viscount, glancing from one face to the other, fell back in staring surprise.

"Gad love me!" he exclaimed. "'Tis years since I saw you out of a peruke, Charles and now I do--I vow your likeness to Bet is greater than ever--faith 'tis marvellous! Same features, same gestures, same height----"

"Nay I swear I'm taller by a good inch, Tom----"

"But the similarity is wonderful----"

"Except for his voice!" sighed my lady, "and that--hush! 'Tis the coach returned, aunt is back from Sevenoaks already!" So saying, she crossed to the window and leaned out. "Heavens!" she cried, "aunt must ha' driven home galloping, the horses are all in a lather o' foam. I wonder----"

"Betty!" cried a voice, "O Betty!"

"Save us!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed my lady, crossing to the door and turning the key, "she's coming up!"

"Betty!" cried Lady Belinda from the landing without, "O Betty, let me in--let me in!" Here the strong door was shaken by eager hands. "Let me in, Betty, O I know who's there--I've known for days. Let me in for O Lud--I've such terrible news--quick, open the door!"

Instantly Betty obeyed and Lady Belinda tottered in, closed it again and leaned there breathless.

"Charles!" she cried. "My wicked wanderer! My wayward boy! O I shall faint--I swoon!" But Lady Belinda did neither, instead she caught the earl to her bosom, kissed him tenderly and spoke. "My dears, there are soldiers at Sevenoaks seeking our fugitive--they may be here at any time!"

"The devil!" exclaimed the fugitive.

"We must do something!" said the Viscount.

"We will!" nodded my lady.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE MAJOR COMES TO A RESOLUTION

Colonel Lord George Cleeve sat perched astride a chair on the desk in the corner and watched where the Major and Sergeant Zebedee fronted each other for their wonted morning's fencing-bout:

"You'll find me a little sluggish as 'twere after last night, Zeb,"

said the Major, taking his ground.

"Why there have been other nights, sir, and I never found you so yet,"

answered the Sergeant, as, returning the Major's salute, he came to his guard, and, with a tinkle and clash of steel, they engaged, the Major, light-poised and graceful, the Sergeant balanced upon stockinged feet, cunning, swift and throbbing with vigorous strength. Now as their play became closer it seemed that the weapons were part of themselves, this darting, twining steel seemed instinct with life and foreknowledge as lightning thrust was met by lightning parry; while the Colonel, craning forward in his chair, cursed rapturously under his breath, snorted and wriggled ecstatic. It was a long, close rally ending in a sudden grinding flurry of pliant blades followed by a swift and deadly lunge from the Sergeant met by an almost miraculous riposte, and he stepped back to shake his head and smile; while the Colonel slapped his thigh and roared for pure joy of it.

"Sir," said the Sergeant, "'tis me is sluggish it seems! Clean through my sword-arm!"

"Faith, Zeb, I saw it coming in time."

"Joy!" cried the Colonel, sprinkling himself copiously with snuff, "O man Jack 'tis a delight t' the eye, a balm t' the soul, a comfort t'

the heart! Rabbit me, Jack, Sergeant Zeb is improved out o' knowledge."

"Aye, George, Zeb is an apt pupil. Come again, Sergeant."

At this moment the door opened and the Viscount lounged in, but seeing what was toward, seated himself on a corner of the desk as the foils rang together again. Before the next venue was decided the Colonel was on his legs with excitement and the Viscount's languor was forgotten quite, for, despite their b.u.t.toned foils, they fought with a grim yet joyous ferocity, as if death itself had hung upon the issue. Their blades whirled and clashed, or grinding lightly together seemed to feel out and sense each other's attack; followed cunning feints, vicious thrust or lunge and dexterous parry until, at last, the Major stepped back and lowered his point:

"'Tis your hit, Zeb--here on my wrist!"

"Why 'twas scarce a hit, your honour."

"Most palpable, Zeb!"