“Perhaps something may be done to-night,” he replied, “especially if no inquiry has yet been made amongst the watermen upon the river.”

“None,” replied the Duke, “none!  To say the truth, I was so confounded and confused, that I came away here instantly—­for advice and assistance,” he added; but there was a pause between the words, which left his real views somewhat doubtful.  The rest of the business was speedily arranged.  The Duke’s coach was at the door, and Wilton proceeded into the Earl’s library to write a note to his own servant, containing various directions.  He was followed in a minute or two by Lord Sherbrooke, who seemed looking for something in haste.

“Where are the blank warrants, Wilton?” he said:  “my father will sign one at once.”

As he spoke, however, he bent down his head over Wilton’s shoulder, and then added, “Get away as fast as you can, or you will betray yourself to the keen eyes that are upon you.  Go with the Duke, rescue the girl, and the game is before you.  I, too, will exert myself to find her, but with different views, and you shall have the benefit of it.”

“Sherbrooke, Sherbrooke,” said Wilton, “what madness is it that you would put into my head?”

“It is in your heart already, Wilton,” replied Lord Sherbrooke.  “But after all, it is no madness, Wilton; for I have this very night heard my father acknowledge to the Duke that he knows who you really are; that the blood in your veins is as good as that of any one in the kingdom; and that your family is more ancient than that of the Duke himself, only that on account of some of the late troubles and changes it has been judged necessary to keep you, for a time, in the shade.  Thus, you see, it is no madness—­Nay, nay, collect your thoughts, Wilton.—­Where are these cursed warrants?  I say the game is before you.—­There is my father’s voice calling.  He has an intuitive perception that I am spoiling his plans.  Look to Sir John Fenwick, Wilton—­look to Sir John Fenwick.  I suspect him strongly.  Hark how that patient and dignified father of mine is making the bell of the saloon knock its head against the wall!  By heavens, there’s his step!  Fold up your note quickly!  Where can these cursed warrants be?—­My lord,” he continued, turning to his father, who entered at that moment, “before you sent me for the warrants, you should have given me a warrant to discover and take them up, for I can neither do one nor the other.”

The warrants were soon found, however; the Earl signed one and filled up the blanks; one of the ordinary Messengers of State was sent for, in order to follow Wilton and the Duke as soon as possible; and the young gentleman, taking his place in the carriage, was soon upon the way to Beaufort House, conversing over the events that had occurred.

What between agitation, grief, and apprehension, the Duke was all kindness and condescension towards his young companion.  He seemed, indeed, to cast himself entirely upon Wilton for support and assistance; and it speedily became apparent that his suspicions also pointed in the direction of Sir John Fenwick, and the rash and violent men with whom he was engaged.