“Mighty fine, sir,” said the voice of Sir John Fenwick, as he advanced from behind—­“Mighty fine!  But this is a mere waste of time.  In the first place, what are you doing with that lady, who, as her father’s friend, I intend immediately to take under my protection.”

“Her father, sir,” replied Wilton, with a contemptuous smile, “judges that the lady has been somewhat too long under your careful but somewhat forcible protection already.  I beg leave to give you notice, Sir John Fenwick, that I am fully authorized by the Duke of Gaveston, Lady Laura’s father, by a writing under his own hand, to seek for and deliver her from those who have taken her away.  I know you have been too wise and prudent to suffer yourself to be seen in this business hitherto, and if you will take my advice, you will not meddle with it now.—­Stand back, sir; for as I live, I will shoot you through the head if you take one single step forward; and you know I will keep my word!”

“But there is more to be inquired into, sir,” exclaimed Sir George Barkley—­“there is blood—­blood upon the stairs, blood—­”

“Hear me, Sir George,” said Lady Helen, advancing.  “You know me well, and must believe what I say.”

“I have the pleasure of recollecting your ladyship very well,” replied Sir George; “but I thought that you and Miss Villars had sailed back for France by this time.”

“Alas!  Sir George,” replied the lady—­“poor Caroline, I fear, will not be able to be moved.  She has met with a severe accident to-night, and it is her blood, poor child, that you saw upon the stairs.  This gentleman has had nothing farther to do with the matter, except inasmuch as he was accidentally present, and kindly carried her upstairs to the room where she now lies.”

“That alters the case,” said Sir George Barkley:  “but who is he?  We have heard reports by the way which give us alarm.  Will he pledge his honour, as a gentleman, never to mention anything he has seen this night—­or, at least, not for six months?”

“On that condition,” demanded Wilton, “will you give me perfect freedom of egress with this lady and the gentleman who is with me?”

“Not with the lady!” exclaimed Sir George Barkley, sharply; and at the same moment Sir John Fenwick, Rookwood, and Parkyns all surrounded the Jacobite leader, speaking eagerly, but in a low tone, and evidently remonstrating against his permitting the departure of any of the party.  He seemed puzzled how to act.

“Come out here again,” he said—­“come out here, where we can speak more at ease.  They cannot get out of this room, if we keep the door.”

“Not without breaking their neck from the window,” replied Rookwood.

“What is that small door there at the side?” said Sir George Barkley.  “Let some one see!”

“’Tis nothing but a cupboard,” said Sir John Fenwick—­“I examined it the other night, for fear of eavesdroppers.  There is no way out.”