"I do not say she is guilty. Nay, I am sure she was but the tool of the man she married. But where she is now I know not, for never have I seen her since the night when the thing was attempted. All I have known is that my daughter here hath even made it known that she hath been in various places, so that she might keep any from suspecting the hiding-place of her sister. Of one thing I am sure, she is far away from here, else had not my daughter Constance given herself up here in Bedford. Therefore I pray you, Sir William, to let her return to my house at Goodlands, until I can prove to his Majesty's judges that she was not in London on the night when General Monk was in danger of his life."

At this there was again a consultation among the justices, and I verily believe that had not Master Leslie taken part in the king's father's death, they would have done even as he had asked, but several of them were strong Royalists, and hated Master Leslie and all his ways, while the others who had sympathy with him were afraid that when the matter came to the king's ears, he would be displeased at such a course of action.

So it was presently decided that, although the case had taken an unusual course, nought had yet been proved, and that seeing the king had taken especial interest in the matter, he must be informed as to what had taken place, and that meanwhile Mistress Constance must be confined in Bedford Gaol until the will of those in high places had been made known.

When the matter of my own imprisonment was brought forward it was decided that as I was evidently in league with Mistress Constance, and that as I had been guilty of a grave breach of the law, I must also be kept in prison until their worships had heard from London as to what should be done with me.

A little after noon, therefore, I was back in my prison again, and if the truth must be known, glad to be alone that I might think over what I had heard. For surely I had enough wherewith to puzzle my head. It is true the revelations which had been made had made clear many things which I had been unable to understand, yet many more remained in darkness, and in spite of many hours of thought I could see but little light.

Nevertheless, there was no happier man in Bedford than I, for although I knew that Mistress Constance cared nought for me, the way she had looked at me in the court proved that, I could think of her and love her without sin. And this I did until my heart ached with very loving.

For four days I neither saw nor heard aught of her, for the gaolers would speak no word, neither did Master Sturgeon come near me, but at the end of the fourth day I was told it was the king's will that we should proceed to London town without delay.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE JOURNEY TO WINDSOR

A great crowd gathered around the gaol at Bedford to see Mistress Constance Leslie and myself start for London. This was but little wonder, for the revelation made in the Chapel of Herne had spread like wildfire, and people had come from the whole country side to see us depart. I noticed too that we were not regarded with anger, nor treated with contumely. Rather I judged that Mistress Constance was looked upon with great favour, and I verily believe that had they been encouraged, the people would have cheered her with great gusto, for they looked upon her, not as one who had done aught to be ashamed of, but as one who had bravely suffered much for another's sake. As for myself they knew nought of me except my name, for this I had made known in the Court House, and that I had succeeded in helping Mistress Constance out of prison.

Neither was this regarded as a great sin. Indeed it was believed that I knew of the truth of what Master Leslie had told, and therefore it was natural for me to render what help I was able. Concerning our former meeting I had of course been silent, and although I had been questioned closely I had given no answer which made any one the wiser.

One thing pleased me beyond measure, and this was the fact that Black Ben was returned to me, and that I was allowed to ride him to London.

This I suspect was owing to the kindness of Sir William Franklin, who had known my father and had fought by his side during the first civil war.

We were, however, carefully guarded, so carefully that quite a company of armed men rode out of Bedford, making as I thought a good show that bright summer morning.

We must have travelled at least six miles before I had a chance of speaking to Mistress Constance, for although we rode side by side in the midst of those who guarded us, we had no chance of speaking a word to each other. For that matter I do not think she desired speech, for either she looked straight forward, or else looked away to the right, which was in the opposite direction from where I was.

When we had travelled a few miles, however, we were less closely watched. The constables talked with each other, now and then pa.s.sing a jest, and again telling of the fine times they hoped to have when they reached London. Indeed I saw that while they took care there was no chance of escape, they paid us less and less heed.

Therefore as I had opportunity, I drew my horse so close to hers that my right foot almost touched her riding habit.

"I trust I have done nought to offend you," I said, looking into her face.

But she did not reply for several moments, but rather turned away her head from me.

"When you speak to me look straight on," she said.

I saw the wisdom of her words, for although the guard was more lax than when we left Bedford, I knew that watchful eyes were constantly upon us.

I therefore obeyed her, and waited for her answer.

"How can I be offended, when you have tried to be my friend?" she asked; "but did you not tell me that you spoke the French tongue?"

"Yes," I replied in that language. "I do not speak freely, but perhaps enough to make you understand."

"Then speak to me in that tongue. You can understand now why I could tell you nothing when we first met."

"Yes," I replied, "I understand. It has made me very happy."

She gave me a searching glance. It was only for a moment that she looked, but I felt the beat of my heart quicken.

"There is much that you do not know--cannot know."

"I know enough to make me very happy," I repeated. "Almost ever since I saw you first I have felt a great burden upon my heart. Now it is gone."

"You believed I was guilty of--of----" here she stammered, and seemed at a loss how to finish her sentence, but I noticed the bitterness of her voice.

"No," I interrupted eagerly. "Never for one moment."

I thought her eyes grew softer, for I could not help looking at her as I spoke.

"Why then have you been made happy?"

"Because I know you are not the wife of that man."

The blood mounted to her cheeks, and the moment I saw this I turned away my head.

"You have been very good to try and help me," she said, "but it does not avail, it will not avail."

"I have done nothing," I replied, "nothing to what I would do if I could."

"Yes, you have done much. You have helped me to save my sister."

"Unconsciously," I replied. "I know nothing of her. If I had known I should not have cared. It was only you I wanted to help."

"It does not matter about me. She must be saved whatever may happen. I will see to that."

"Then you do not fear what the king may do?"

"No, I do not fear. But do not speak again, the men are beginning to watch us."

I pretended to be examining Black Ben's saddle, and to attend to one of the buckles which kept up the left stirrup.

"What's the matter Master Rashcliffe," said one of the guards.

"Hath some one been meddling with my stirrups?" I asked. "They seem too short."

"They can be seen to when we stop at mid-day for food," he replied.

After that we rode on for another mile without speaking.

"I think I shall have some favour with the king," I said presently. "If so, you will soon be free."

"Perchance you will be free, but not I," she replied.

"If I am free you shall be free," I made answer.