“And now, sir, as your servants are killed, and but one horse remains to your carriage, will you permit me to offer you for the night the hospitality of Windthorpe Chace?  I am Colonel Holliday, sir, an old servant of King Charles the First—­”

“I accept your offer, sir, as frankly as it is made.  I have often heard your name.  I, sir, am George Churchill.”

“The Earl of Marlborough!” exclaimed Colonel Holliday.

“The same,” the earl said, with a smile.  “I am not greatly loved, sir; but my name will, I am sure, do me no ill service with one of the men of Naseby.”

“No, indeed!” Colonel Holliday said, warmly; “it is at once a pleasure and an honour to me to entertain so great a general at the Chace.”

“And now,” the earl said, “a truce to compliments.  Pray resume your seat in the coach, sir.  I will cut loose the horse from the coach, and will follow you in company with your grandson.”

Colonel Holliday in vain tried to persuade the earl to take his place in the carriage.

The latter, however, firmly declined, and the colonel took his place in the coach, and drove off at once, to make preparation for the reception of his guest.  The earl had even declined the offer to leave one or both of the lackeys behind.  And when the carriage had driven off, he said to Rupert, who had stood looking with respectful admiration at the greatest general of the age: 

“Now, young sir, let us have a look at this carrion; maybe their faces will throw some light upon this affair.”

So saying, he took the torch which had been left burning, and turned over the body of the man he had slain before Rupert arrived on the scene.

“I do not know him,” he said, looking steadily at the dead man’s face.

“I know him,” Rupert exclaimed in surprise.  “He is a saddler of Derby—­a fierce nonconformist and whig, and a preacher at conventicles.  And to think of his being a highwayman!”

“An assassin is a better term,” the earl said contemptuously.  “I guessed from their number it was my life, and not my money, that they sought.

“Now let us look at the fellow you sent to his account.”

Rupert hung back as they approached the man he had killed.  In those days of rebellions, executions, and duels, human life was regarded but lightly.  Still, to a lad of little over fifteen the thought that he had killed a man, even if in fair fight, was very painful.

“Ah, I thought so,” the earl said.  “This is a creature of a political enemy.  I have seen him in his antechamber.  So the order came from London, and the tools were found here.  That will do.  Now let us get this horse out of the traces.  It is some years since I have ridden barebacked.

“No, I thank you,” in answer to Rupert’s offer of his own horse; “a saddle matters not one way or the other.  There, now for the Chace; and I shall not be sorry to fall to on the supper which, I doubt not, the good gentleman your grandfather will have prepared.”