"Why?" he demanded fiercely, and caught her arms, holding her there before him. "Why is it overlate?"
"Suffer me to go," she commanded, rather than begged, and made to free herself of his grasp.
"I want you to be my wife, Hortensia—my wedded wife."
She looked at him, and laughed; a cold laugh, disdainful, yet not bitter. "You wanted that before, my lord; yet you neglected the opportunity my folly gave you. I thank you—you, after God—for that same neglect."
"Ah, do not say that!" he begged, a very suppliant again. "Do not say that! Child, I love you. Do you understand?"
"Who could fail to understand, after the abundant proof you have afforded me of your sincerity and your devotion?"
"Do you rally me?" he demanded, letting through a flash of the anger that was mounting in him. "Am I so poor a thing that you whet your little wit upon me?"
"My lord, you are paining me. What can you look to gain by this? Suffer me to go."
A moment yet he stood, holding her wrists and looking down into her eyes with a mixture of pleading and ferocity in his. Then he made a sound in his throat, and caught her bodily to him; his arms, laced about her, held her bound and crushed against him. His dark, flushed face hovered above her own.
Fear took her at last. It mounted and grew to horror. "Let me go, my lord," she besought him, her voice trembling. "Oh, let me go!"
"I love you, Hortensia! I need you!" he cried, as if wrung by pain, and then hot upon her brow and cheeks and lips his kisses fell, and shame turned her to fire from head to foot as she fought helplessly within his crushing grasp.
"You dog!" she panted, and writhing harder, wrenched free a hand and arm. Blindly she beat upwards into that evil satyr's face. "You beast! You toad! You coward!"
They fell apart, each panting; she leaning faint against the spinet, her bosom galloping; he muttering oaths decent and other—for in the upward thrusting of her little hand one of its fingers had prodded at an eye, and the pain of it—which had caused him to relax his hold of her—stripped what little veneer remained upon the man's true nature.
"Will you go?" she asked him furiously, outraged by the vileness of his ravings. "Will you go, or must I summon help?"
He stood looking at her, straightening his wig, which had become disarranged in the struggle, and forcing himself to an outward calm. "So," he said. "You scorn me? You will not marry me? You realise the chance, eh? And why? Why?"
"I suppose it is because I am blind to the honor of the alliance," she controlled herself to answer him. "Will you go?"
He did not move. "Yet you loved me once—"
"'Tis a lie!" she blazed. "I thought I did—to my undying shame. No more than that, my lord—as I've a soul to be saved."
"You loved Me," he insisted. "And you would love me still but for this damned Caryll—this French coxcomb, who has crawled into your regard like the slimy, creeping thing he is."
"It sorts well with your ways, my lord, that you could say these things behind his back. You are practiced at stabbing men behind."
The gibe, with all the hurtful, stinging quality that only truth possesses, struck his anger from him, leaving him limp and pale. Then he recovered.
"Do you know who he is—what he is?" he asked. "I will tell you. He's a spy—a damned Jacobite spy, whom a word from me will hang."
Her eyes lashed him with her scorn. "I were a fool did I believe you," was her contemptuous answer.
"Ask him," he said, and laughed. He turned and strode to the door. Paused there, sardonic, looking back. "I shall be quits with you, ma'am. Quits! I'll hang this pretty turtle of yours at Tyburn. Tell him so from me."
He wrenched the door open, and went out on that, leaving her cold and sick with dread.
Was it but an idle threat to terrorize her? Was it but that? Her impulse was to seek Mr. Caryll upon the instant that she might ask him and allay her fears. But what right had she? Upon what grounds could she set a question upon so secret a matter? She conceived him raising his brows in that supercilious way of his, and looking her over from head to toe as though seeking a clue to the nature of this quaint thing that asked him questions. She pictured his smile and the jest with which he would set aside her inquiry. She imagined, indeed, just what she believed would happen did she ask him; which was precisely what would not have happened. Imagining thus, she held her peace, and nursed her secret dread. And on the following day, his weakness so far overcome as to leave him no excuse to linger at Stretton House, Mr. Caryll took his departure and returned to his lodging in Old Palace Yard.
One more treasonable interview had he with Lord Ostermore in the library ere he departed. His lordship it was who reopened again the question, to repeat much of what he had said in the arbor on the previous day, and Mr. Caryll replied with much the same arguments in favor of procrastination that he had already employed.
"Wait, at least," he begged, "until I have been abroad a day or two, and felt for myself how the wind Is setting."
"'Tis a prodigiously dangerous document," he declared. "I scarce see the need for so much detail."
"How can it set but one way?"
"'Tis a question I shall be in better case to answer when I have had an opportunity of judging. Meanwhile, be assured I shall not sail for France without advising you. Time enough then to give me your letter should you still be of the same mind."
"Be it so," said the earl. "When all is said, the letter will be safer here, meantime, than in your pocket." And he tapped the secretaire. "But see what I have writ his majesty, and tell me should I alter aught."
He took out a drawer on the right—took it out bodily—then introduced his hand into the opening, running it along the inner side of the desk until, no doubt, he touched a spring; for suddenly a small trap was opened. From this cavity he fished out two documents—one the flimsy tissue on which King James' later was penned; the other on heavier material Lord Ostermore's reply. He spread the latter before him, and handed it to Mr. Caryll, who ran an eye over it.
It was indited with stupid, characteristic incaution; concealment was never once resorted to; everywhere expressions of the frankest were employed, and every line breathed the full measure of his lordship's treason and betrays the existence of a plot.
Mr. Caryll returned it. His countenance was grave.
"I desire his majesty to know how whole-heartedly I belong to him."
"'Twere best destroyed, I think. You can write another when the time comes to dispatch it."
But Ostermore was never one to take sensible advice. "Pooh! 'Twill be safe in here. 'Tis a secret known to none." He dropped it, together with King James' letter, back into the recess, snapped down the trap, and replaced the drawer. Whereupon Mr. Caryll took his leave, promising to advise his lordship of whatever he might glean, and so departed from Stretton House.
My Lord Rotherby, meanwhile, was very diligent in the business upon which he was intent. He had received in his interview with Hortensia an added spur to such action as might be scatheful to Mr. Caryll. His lordship was lodged in Portugal Row, within a stone's throw of his father's house, and there, on that same evening of his moving thither, he had Mr. Green to see him, desiring news.
Mr. Green had little to impart, but strong hope of much to be garnered presently. His little eyes twinkling, his chubby face suffused in smiles, as though it were an excellent jest to be hunting knowledge that should hang a man, the spy assured Lord Rotherby that there was little doubt Mr. Caryll could be implicated as soon as he was about again.
"And that's the reason—after your lordship's own express wishes—why so far I have let Sir Richard Everard be. It may come to trouble for me with my Lord Carteret should it be smoked that I have been silent on the matters within my knowledge. But—"
"Oh, a plague on that!" said his lordship. "You'll be well paid for your services when you've rendered them. And, meanwhile, I understand that not another soul in London—that is, on the side of the government—is aware of Sir Richard's presence in town. So where is your danger?"
"True," said Mr. Green, plump hand caressing plumper chin. "Had it not been so, I should have been forced to
