“Oh, I trust, dearest Laura, that this charge will prove nothing,” replied Wilton.  “As far as I know, though he acted imprudently, there was not anything in the slightest degree criminal in his conduct.  The days, I trust, are gone by when fictitious plots might be got up, and the blood of the innocent be sold for its weight of gold.  It may have been judged necessary to secure his person, and yet there may not be the slightest probability of his being condemned or even tried.”

“I do not know, Wilton,” replied Lady Laura, sadly—­“I do not know.  He seems in very great terror and agitation.  Are you sure he has told you all, Wilton?”

“On that subject, of course, I cannot be sure,” replied Wilton.  “But I do not feel at all sure, Laura, that this charge and this imprisonment may not have its origin in personal revenge.  If so, perhaps we may frustrate the plotter, though we be weak and he is strong.  Who was the warrant against your father signed by?—­Was it—?”

“Not by Lord Byerdale,” replied Laura, laying her hand upon his and gazing into his face, and thus showing Wilton that she instantly divined his suspicions.—­“It was by the Duke of Shrewsbury.”

“That looks ill, dearest Laura,” replied Wilton, thoughtfully.  “The Duke of Shrewsbury is one above all suspicion, high, noble, independent, serving the state only for the love of his country, abhorring office and the task of governing, but wise and prudent, neither to be led by any art or trickery to do what is not just, nor even to entertain base suspicions of another, without some very specious cause to give them credibility.  This is strange, Laura, and I do not understand it.  Did your father express a wish that you should see me, so that I may act openly in the business without offending him?”

“He not only told me to consult with you,” replied Laura, “but he sent me direct from the Tower in the chair which you saw standing at the door, desiring me not to go to Beaufort House till I had seen you; to beseech you to come to him immediately, in order that he might advise with and consult you upon his situation.  Indeed, he seems to have no hope in any one but in you.”

Wilton mused for a minute or two.

“I do not think, my clear Laura,” he said, “that the Earl of Byerdale knew anything of your father’s arrest this morning when I saw him.  I believe I must have done him wrong in my first suspicions.  I will now, however, go to him at once, and endeavour to ascertain the precise nature of Sir John Fenwick’s charge.”

“Might it not be better,” said Laura, anxiously, “to see my father first?”

“I must obtain an order of admission, dear Laura,” replied Wilton.  “What are the orders respecting your father’s confinement I cannot tell, but I know that Sir John Fenwick is permitted to see no one but the ministers of the crown or somebody appointed by them.  At all events, I think it will be better to converse with the Earl, and get the order at the same time.  I will then hasten to your father with all speed, give him what comfort and consolation I can, and afterwards come for a few minutes to Beaufort House to see my Laura, and tell her the result—­that is to say, if I may.”