"Zeb," said the Major, rising, "Zebedee--ha--Sergeant Tring, give me your hand! And now," he continued, as their hands gripped and fell apart, "bring me my hat and cane, Zeb, I'll to my lady." These being produced, the Major clapped on laced hat, took ebony cane in hand and crossed to the door; but there the Sergeant stayed him:

"Sir," said he in gentle remonstrance, "you'll never go in your old coat?

"And wherefore not, Zeb?"

"'Tis not in keeping wi' your brave new hat, your honour!"

"Maybe not, Zeb," sighed the Major, "but then 'tis in most excellent keeping with my--my limp, d'ye see. So let be, Zeb, let be!"

And so the Major went forth upon his errand and, being a little perturbed as to his possible reception, fell to planning himself a line of conduct for the forthcoming interview and forming stern resolutions that should govern him throughout. Thus, as he walked, head a-droop and deep-plunged in thought, his limp was rather more p.r.o.nounced than usual.

CHAPTER XXIX

TELLS HOW LADY BETTY DID THE SAME

And so my Lady Carlyon sitting in her arbour, lovely head bent above a book on surgery, presently espied the Major's tall figure advancing towards her; and beholding the familiar features of the Ramillie coat, its threadbare seams, its tarnished braid and b.u.t.tons, she had the grace to blush, and felt her breath catch unwontedly.

The rosy flush still mantled her cheeks as she rose to greet him, quick to heed the courtly grace of his stately bow and his air of gentle aloofness.

"Madam--my lady, pray pardon this unwarranted intrusion, but----"

"O sir," she murmured, eyes a-droop, "most fully."

"I am come on account of your brother, my Lord Medhurst."

"Ah!" she sighed, "you mean my dear rebel--will't please you to sit, sir?"

"Thank you, I had--rather stand," he answered gently.

"And pray sir, what of my brother?"

"My lady, it seems the soldiers--a search-party have reached Sevenoaks and may be on their way hither, and your house would prove but a dangerous hiding-place, I fear. They would naturally search there first and very thoroughly."

"And you are here to warn me?"

"I am here to offer him the more secure shelter of the Manor."

Here my lady sighed, glanced swiftly up at his averted face and made room for him beside her on the rustic bench.

"Will you not--sit down, sir?" she asked softly.

"Thank you but I--am very well here!" he answered; whereupon my lady frowned at her book and fluttered its pages with petulant fingers.

"Can it be sir," she questioned, "can it possibly be that Major John d'Arcy so--so sternly orthodox and----and Whiggish is willing to give shelter to a Jacobite rebel?" The Major bowed. "And you are a--loyal soldier?"

"I--was!" he answered, sighing so deeply that she glanced at him again and beholding his troubled face, her petulant fingers were stilled, her frown vanished and her voice grew suddenly pleading and tender.

"Prithee, Major John will you not--sit awhile?" and she drew aside the folds of her gown invitingly.

"Indeed I--I had--rather not!" he answered, drawing back a step.

My lady's round bosom heaved tempestuous and she glanced at his averted face with eyes of scorn.

"Sir," said she, "the soldier who shelters the enemies of his king is a--traitor!" The Major winced. "And traitors are sometimes--hanged, sir!"

"Or shot, or beheaded!" he murmured.

"And you, Major d'Arcy, you are willing to run all these risks and wherefore?" The Major prodded diligently at a patch of moss with his cane, while, chin on hand, she watched him, waiting his answer.

"Need you ask?" he muttered.

"I do ask, sir," said she, her watchful gaze unwavering; and he, conscious of this intent look, flushed, grew uneasy, grew abashed; finally he raised his head and returned her look and in his eyes was that which called imperious to all her womanhood, that before which her own eyes fell though his voice was very tender as he answered:

"My lady you know well 'tis--for you. You know my love is one that counteth not risk, now or--or ever."

At this, my lady having seen and heard all she had desired, bowed shapely head and was silent awhile, staring down at the page before her headed: "Quartern Ague." When at last she spoke her voice quavered oddly and he flinched, believing that she laughed at him again.

"Your coat is more--more threadbare and--woebegone than--ever, John!"

Here he sighed, still thinking that she mocked him but, as he turned away, he saw something that fell sparkling upon the page before her, followed by another and another. The Major stood awe-struck.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, "mam----"

"Do--not----" my lady sobbed but stamped her foot at him none the less.

"Madam," he corrected hastily.

"Nor that, sir! I'll not be 'madam-ed' or 'my lady-ed'--by you--any longer."

"Betty! O Betty!" he cried yearningly.

"John!" she sighed, "Jack!" And lifting her head she looked at him with eyes brimful of tears, tears that would not be winked away, so she dabbed at them with her handkerchief and sobbed again. The Major stepped hastily into the arbour.

"Betty?" he questioned in awed wonderment.

"Yes--I'm weeping, sir," she confessed. "I'm shedding--real tears and 'tis not a custom of mine, sir--consequently 'tis not so easy as to faint or--swoon. I hate to--sob and weep, and I--despise tears--besides they hurt me, John." He came a quick step nearer. "O 'tis very cruel to make a poor maid weep--how can you, John dear?"

"I?" he exclaimed aghast, "I--make you weep?"

"Indeed you--you! O cruel!"

"In heaven's name, how--what have I done?"

"Heaped coals of fire, John! Burnt me! Scorched me!"

The Major stared, utterly at a loss and fumbled with one of his tarnished b.u.t.tons; then, seeing his bewilderment, she laughed through her tears and, choking back her sobs, rose and stretched out her arms to him.