“By no means a bad plan,” said the Duke, starting up—­“let us go at once!  When anything feasible is proposed, we should lose no time in executing it.”

Wilton was ready to depart, and Lady Laura was eager to do so.  Every moment, indeed, of their stay made her feel fresh apprehensions lest that night should not be destined to close without some more painful event still, than those which she had already witnessed.

She turned, however, to the Lady Helen before she went, and with the peculiar sort of quiet grace which distinguished her, approached her gently and kissed her cheek, saying, “I can never thank you sufficiently, dear lady, for the kindness you have shown me, or the deliverance which I owe, in the first place, to you; and I thank you for the kindness you have shown me here, as much as for my deliverance:  for if it had not been for the comfort it gave me, I do believe I should have sunk under the sorrow, and agitation, and terror, which I felt when I was first brought hither.  I hope and believe, however, that I do not leave you here never to see you again.”

Lady Helen smiled, and laid her hand gently upon Wilton’s arm.

“There is a link between him and me, lady,” she said, “which can never be broken; and I shall often, I hope, hear of your welfare from him, for I trust that you will see him not infrequently.”

Lady Laura blushed slightly, but she was not one to suffer any fine or noble feeling of the heart to be checked by such a thing as false shame.

“I trust I shall,” she answered, raising her eyes to Wilton’s face—­” I trust I shall see him often, very often; and I shall never see him, certainly, without feelings of pleasure and gratitude.  You do not know that this is the second time he has delivered me from great danger.”

The Duke of Berwick smiled, not, indeed, at Lady Laura’s words, but at the blush that came deeper and deeper into her cheek as she spoke.  He made no observation, however, but changed the conversation by addressing Wilton, “Wherever I am to procure a horse under your good guidance, my dear sir,” he said, “I must, I believe, take another name than my own; for though Berwick and London are very distant places, yet there might be compulsory means found of bringing them unpleasantly together.  You must call me, therefore, Captain Churchill, if you please;—­a name,” he added, with a sigh, “which, very likely, the gentleman who now fills the throne of England might be very well inclined to bestow upon me himself.  Lady Helen, I wish you good night, and take my leave.  Master Plessis, I leave the horse with you:  he never was worth ten pounds, and now he’s not worth five; so you may sell him to pay for my entertainment.”

Bowing to the very ground from various feelings of respect, French, English, and Jacobite, Plessis took a candle and lighted the Duke down stairs, while Wilton followed, accompanied by Laura and Captain Byerly.  The outer door was then opened, and the whole party issued forth into the field which surrounded the house, finding themselves suddenly in the utter darkness of a moonless, starless, somewhat foggy night.