“I will go,” said the Lady Helen, “I had better go.  It will alarm her less, and she has been terrified and agitated too much already, poor thing.”

Thus saying, she left them; but the lady returned alone in a moment after, saying, with some consternation, that the man had got the key of the door with him.

“Oh, that is nothing!” exclaimed Plessis, laughing; “I am never without my passe-partout;” and producing a key attached to a large ring, from his pocket, he gave it into the hands of the Lady Helen, who returned to her kind task once more.

Scarcely had she left the room when there came the sound of a man’s step from the passage, and Plessis darted out.  The footfall which he heard was that of Lord Sherbrooke, who was seeking Wilton; and as soon as the young nobleman saw him, he advanced towards him with both his hands extended, saying,—­

“Oh, Wilton, dear friend, this has been a terrible night.  But it is in the fiery furnace of such nights as this that hard hearts are melted and cast in a new mould.  I feel that it is so with mine.  But to the business that makes me seek you,” he continued, in a low tone, seeing that there was another person in the room, and drawing Wilton on one side.  “Listen to me!  Quit this house as fast as possible.  I find you are in a nest of furious Jacobites, and there may be great danger to you if found here.  I remain with my poor Caroline; and far away from all the rest, have nothing to fear, although the warning that she gave was intended for me.  You speed away to London as fast as possible.  But remember, Wilton! remember:  mention no word of this night’s event to my father.  He does not expect me in town for several days, and I must choose my own time and manner to give him the history of all this affair.  He holds me by a chain you know not of—­the chain of my heavy debts.  I am at liberty but upon his sufferance, and one cold look from him to Jew or usurer would plunge me in a debtor’s prison in an hour.  The man who has debts he cannot pay, Wilton, is worse than any ordinary slave, for he is a slave to many masters.  But I must away,” he continued, in his rapid manner, “for I have left her with no one but the servant girl, and I must watch her till all danger be past.”

“I trust she is better,” said Wilton; “I trust there is no danger.”

“They tell me not, they tell me not, Wilton,” replied Lord Sherbrooke; “but now that I have been upon the very eve of losing a jewel, of which I was but too careless before, I feel all its value, and would fain hide it trembling in my heart, lest fate should snatch it from me.  Say nothing of these things—­remember, say nothing of them.”

“But Arden, but Arden,” said Wilton, as Lord Sherbrooke was turning away—­“but the Messenger, Sherbrooke.  May he not tell something?”

“The cowardly villain ran away so soon,” replied Lord Sherbrooke, “he could hear nothing, and understand less.  He is a cautious scoundrel, too, and will hold his tongue.  Yet you may give him a warning, if you see him, Wilton.”