Spent in mutual counsel, too; which they seemed to have exhausted: as was testified by the words now spoken by Walter.

Marion had suggested an appeal to the Queen--had proposed making a journey to London for this purpose.

"I fear it will be of no use," rejoined the ex-courtier. "I fell upon my knees before her--I protested our father's innocence--I entreated her with tears in my eyes; but she gave me no hope. On the contrary, she was angry with me. I never saw her so before. She even insulted me with vile words: called me the cub of a conspirator; while Jermyn, and Holland, and others of the young lords in her company, made merry at my expense. The king I dared not see. Ah! sister; I fear even you would meet no favour among that Court crew. There is but one who can help us; and that because he is of their kind. You know who I mean, Marion?"

"You speak of Captain Scarthe?"

"I do."

"Indeed! it is true," interposed Lora. "You know he has more than once thrown out hints, as to what he could do to obtain dear uncle's freedom.

I would go upon my knees to him, if it were of any use; but you know, Marion, one word from you would be worth all the entreaties that Walter and I could make. O, cousin! let us not speak in riddles at such a time as this. You know the reason?"

"Marion!" said Walter, half divining Lora's implied meaning; "If this man speak sincerely--if it be true that he has the influence he boasts of--and I have heard as much at Court--then there may be a hope. I know not to what Lora refers. She says that a word from you may accomplish much. Dear sister; is it a sacrifice?"

"You have styled it truly, Walter, in calling it a sacrifice. Without that, my entreaties would be vain as yours. I am sure of it."

"Say, sister! What sacrifice?"

"My hand--my hand!"

"Dear, dear Marion! If it be not with your heart, you cannot promise it--you could not give it."

"Without such promise, I know he would deny me."

"The wretch! O, heavens! And yet it is our father's life--ay, his very life!"

"Would it were mine!" exclaimed Marion, with a look of abandoned anguish; "only mine. The thought of death would be easier to endure than the sorrows I have already!"

Walter comprehended not the meaning of her wild words. Lora better understood their import.

Neither had time to reflect upon them: for, on the instant of their utterance, Marion rose to her feet, and walked with a determined air towards the door of the apartment.

"Where are you going, dear cousin?" asked Lora, slightly frayed at Marion's resolute mien.

"To Captain Scarthe," was the firm rejoinder. "To fling myself at his feet--prostrate, if he please it; to ask him _the price of my father's life_."

Before either cousin or brother could interfere, to oppose or strengthen her resolution, the self-appointed suppliant had pa.s.sed out of the room.

Volume Three, Chapter XVII.

The sentence pa.s.sed upon Sir Marmaduke had given Scarthe a new string to his bow; and the crisis had now arrived for testing its strength.

He had easily obtained the knight's condemnation. From the peculiar interest which he possessed at Court, he knew--or believed--that with equal facility he could procure his pardon.

In his own mind he had resolved upon doing this. On certain conditions Marion Wade might expect a prompt answer to the inquiry she was about to make. It was already determined upon: the price of Sir Marmaduke's life would be the hand of his daughter.

Scarthe did not design addressing his reiterated proposal to the condemned knight; but to Marion herself. His former appeal to the father had been met with a refusal so firm, that from him he might readily apprehend a similar response. True, at that time the knight was only threatened with danger. Now, death stared him in the face--death inglorious, even ignominious. The prospect could not fail to cause fear and faltering; and an ordinary man should be only too fain, by any means, to save himself from such a fate.

But Sir Marmaduke Wade was not one of this stamp. On the contrary, he was just the type of those antique heroic parents, who prefer death to the sacrifice of a daughter's happiness. Scarthe knew it; and believed it quite possible that the conditions he meant to offer might still provoke a n.o.ble and negative rejoinder. Although he had not determined to forego the chances of a last appeal to the condemned prisoner, this was only to be made in the event of Marion's rejection of his terms.

Filial affection was first to be put upon its trial. After that it would be time to test the parental.

This design had been conceived, before the trial of Sir Marmaduke--even previous to his imprisonment: for it was but a sequence of his scheme; and he who concocted it had only been waiting for the knight's condemnation, to bring matters to a climax.

Of the sentence he had been already advised--in fact, knew it before leaving London. Twenty-four hours sooner he could have communicated the intelligence to those whom it most concerned; but, for reasons of his own, he had preferred leaving it to reach them through the natural channel--by the return of Walter from that short sad interview, the last he had been permitted to hold with his unfortunate father.

It was late in the evening when Walter arrived to tell the melancholy tale. Perhaps, had the hour been earlier, Scarthe would have intruded upon the scene of sorrow--to speak his sham sympathy, and mingle hypocritical tears with those that were real. As it was, he only expressed himself thus by deputy--sending one of the domestics with a message of condolence, and reserving his interview with Marion for the morrow.

It was his design to see her, just at that hour when it might be supposed, the first fresh throes of her sorrow had subsided, and his proffer of a.s.sistance might stand a better chance of being appreciated.

Ever since the departure of the prisoner he had been cunningly preparing his plans. He had lost no opportunity of letting it be understood--or at all events surmised--that he possessed the _power to save_. He had hinted at great sacrifices that would accrue to himself in the exertion of this power--at the same time, making certain innuendos, that left the conditions to be guessed at.

His scheme had become matured. To-morrow would see it carried into effect, either for failure or success, and that morrow had now arrived.

On the eve of action he was far from being either confident, or tranquil. As he paced the large drawing-room of the mansion, previous to asking an interview with its young mistress, his steps betrayed agitation. His glances told of mingled emotions--hope, fear, and shame: for, hardened as he was, he could not contemplate his sinister intent without some slight sense of abas.e.m.e.nt. Several times had he laid his hand upon the bell, to summon some one, as the bearer of his request; but as often had his resolution failed him.

"By Phoebus! I'm a fool," he exclaimed at length, as if to fortify his courage by the self-accusation: "and a coward, too! What have I to fear? She cannot refuse me--with her father's life as the forfeit? She would be false to filial duty--affection--nature--everything. Bah!

I'll dally with doubt no longer. I'll bring it to a crisis at once!

Now is the time or never!"

He strode back to the table on which stood the bell. He took it up, with the intention of ringing it. The sound of an opening door, accompanied by the rustling of silken robes, caused him to turn round.

She, from whom he was about to ask an interview, stood before him.

Scarthe was surprised--disconcerted--as one detected in a guilty action.

He fancied that his visitor had divined his intent. On glancing at her countenance, his momentary abashment became suddenly changed to a feeling of triumph. He fancied that he divined _hers_.

She must have known he was in the room: else why did she not pause, or retire? On the contrary, she was approaching him--she had never done so before--evidently with a purpose! There could be but one--_to ask his intercession_.

This forestalling was in his favour. It gave him strength and confidence. It gave him a cue, for the disclosure he meditated making.

"Mistress Marion!" said he, bowing low, "you have saved me the chagrin of intruding upon your grief: for, in truth, I had intended soliciting an interview, to offer my poor mite of consolation."

"By your own showing, sir," rejoined she, placing herself in a firm yet humble att.i.tude, "you can do more. If I mistake not, you have spoken of your influence with the king?"

"Perhaps it is greater with the king's wife," replied the soldier with a smile, evidently intended to make a peculiar impression on his pet.i.tioner. "True, fair Marion; I own to some little influence in that quarter. 'Tis not much; but such as it be, 'tis at your service."

"O sir! thank you for these words. Say you will exert it, to save the life of my father! Say that; and you shall win the grat.i.tude of--of--"

"Marion Wade?"

"More than mine--my father--my brother--our kindred--perhaps our country--will all be grateful; will bless you for the act."

"And of all these grat.i.tudes, the only one I should in the least esteem is your own, beautiful Marion. That will be sufficient recompense for me."

"Sir, you shall have it--to the very depth of my soul."

"Say rather to the depth of your _heart_."

"I have said it. You shall have my heart's grat.i.tude, now and for ever."