Joseph's eyes flashed him a quick look of baffled hate.

"As you will," said he, with an ill grace.

As they pa.s.sed out, Crispin turned to Kenneth.

"Remember, sir, you are still in my service. See that you keep good watch."

Kenneth bent his head without replying. But Master Gregory required little watching. He lay a helpless, half-swooning heap upon the floor, which he had smeared with the blood oozing from his wounded shoulder.

Even were he untrussed, there was little to be feared from him.

During the brief while they were alone together, Kenneth did not so much as attempt to speak to him. He sat himself down upon the nearest chair, and with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees he pondered over the miserable predicament into which Sir Crispin had got him, and more bitter than ever it had been was his enmity at that moment towards the knight. That Galliard should be upon the eve of finding his son, and a sequel to the story he had heard from him that night in Worcester, was to Kenneth a thing of no interest or moment. Galliard had ruined him with these Ashburns. He could never now hope to win the hand of Cynthia, to achieve which he had been willing to turn both fool and knave--aye, had turned both. There was naught left him but to return him to the paltry Scottish estate of his fathers, there to meet the sneers of those who no doubt had heard that he was gone South to marry a great English heiress.

That at such a season he could think of this but serves to prove the shallow nature of his feelings. A love was his that had gain and vanity for its foundation--in fact, it was no love at all. For what he accounted love for Cynthia was but the love of himself, which through Cynthia he sought to indulge.

He cursed the ill-luck that had brought Crispin into his life. He cursed Crispin for the evil he had suffered from him, forgetting that but for Crispin he would have been carrion a month ago and more.

Deep at his bitter musings was he when the door opened again to admit Joseph, followed by Galliard. The knight came across the hall and stooped to look at Gregory.

"You may untruss him, Kenneth, when I am gone," said he. "And in a quarter of an hour from now you are released from your oath to me. Fare you well," he added with unusual gentleness, and turning a glance that was almost regretful upon the lad. "We are not like to meet again, but should we, I trust it may be in happier times. If I have harmed you in this business, remember that my need was great. Fare you well." And he held out his hand.

"Take yourself to h.e.l.l, sir!" answered Kenneth, turning his back upon him. The ghost of an evil smile played round Joseph Ashburn's lips as he watched them.

CHAPTER XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT

So soon as Sir Crispin had taken his departure, and whilst yet the beat of his horse's hoofs was to be distinguished above the driving storm of rain and wind without, Joseph hastened across the hall to the servants'

quarters. There he found his four grooms slumbering deeply, their faces white and clammy, and their limbs twisted into odd, helpless att.i.tudes.

Vainly did he rain down upon them kicks and curses; arouse them he could not from the stupor in whose thrall they lay.

And so, seizing a lanthorn, he pa.s.sed out to the stables, whence Crispin had lately taken his best nag, and with his own hands he saddled a horse. His lips were screwed into a curious smile--a smile that still lingered upon them when presently he retraced his steps to the room where his brother sat with Kenneth.

In his absence the lad had dressed Gregory's wound; he had induced him to take a little wine, and had set him upon a chair, in which he now lay back, white and exhausted.

"The quarter of an hour is pa.s.sed, sir," said Joseph coldly, as he entered.

Kenneth made no sign that he heard. He sat on like a man in a dream. His eyes that saw nothing were bent upon Gregory's pale, flabby face.

"The quarter of an hour is pa.s.sed, sir," Joseph repeated in a louder voice.

Kenneth looked up, then rose and sighed, pa.s.sing his hand wearily across his forehead.

"I understand, sir," he replied in a low voice. "You mean that I must go?"

Joseph waited a moment before replying. Then:

"It is past midnight," he said slowly, "and the weather is wild. You may lie here until morning, if you are so minded. But go you must then,"

he added sternly. "I need scarce say, sir, that you must have no speech with Mistress Cynthia, nor that never again must you set foot within Castle Marleigh."

"I understand, sir; I understand. But you deal hardly with me."

Joseph raised his eyebrows in questioning surprise.

"I was the victim of my oath, given when I knew not against whom my hand was to be lifted. Oh, sir, am I to suffer all my life for a fault that was not my own? You, Master Gregory," he cried, turning pa.s.sionately to Cynthia's father, "you are perchance more merciful? You understand my position--how I was forced into it."

Gregory opened his heavy eyes.

"A plague on you, Master Stewart," he groaned. "I understand that you have given me a wound that will take a month to heal."

"It was an accident, sir. I swear it was an accident!"

"To swear this and that appears to be your chief diversion in life,"

growled Gregory for answer. "You had best go; we are not likely to listen to excuses."

"Did you rather suggest a remedy," Joseph put in quietly, "we might hear you."

Kenneth swung round and faced him, hope brightening his eyes.

"What remedy is there? How can I undo what I have done? Show me but the way, and I'll follow it, no matter where it leads!"

Such protestations had Joseph looked to hear, and he was hard put to it to dissemble his satisfaction. For a while he was silent, making pretence to ponder. At length:

"Kenneth," he said, "you may in some measure repair the evil you have done, and if you are ready to undergo some slight discomfort, I shall be willing on my side to forget this night."

"Tell me how, sir, and whatever the cost I will perform it!"

He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against the Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life even as they had sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years ago they had destroyed his wife's. His only thought was Cynthia; his only wish was to possess her. Besides that, justice and honour itself were of small account.

"It is but a slight matter," answered Joseph. "A matter that I might entrust to one of my grooms."

That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing that his messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not think of adding.

"I would, sir," answered the boy, "that the task were great and difficult."

"Yes, yes," answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, "we are acquainted with both your courage and your resource." He sat silent and thoughtful for some moments, then with a sudden sharp glance at the lad:

"You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us," he said.

Then abruptly he added.

"Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour for London. Take what you may require and arm yourself; then return to me here."

Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined--partly, at least--what was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother silenced him with a glance.

"Go," Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth rose and left them.

"What would you do?" asked Gregory when the door had closed.