"But Julian was no rebel," I exclaimed.
"Tut, tut, lad!" he replied. "If he was no rebel himself, he harboured rebels. If he didn't flesh his sword at Sedgemoor, he gave shelter to those that did. And 'tis all one crime, I tell you. Hair-splitting is held in little favour at the Western Assizes."
"But are you sure of this?" I asked. "Or is it pure town gossip?"
"Nay," said he, "I have the news hot from Marston. He should know, eh?"
"Marston?" said I.
"Yes! The"--and he paused for a second, and smiled at me--"the man who played with me. 'Tis his sister that's betrothed to Harnwood."
His sister! The blood chilled in my veins. I had been aware, of course, that Julian was affianced to a certain Miss Marston of the county of Gloucestershire. But I had never set eyes upon her person and knew little of her history, beyond that she had been one of the ladies in attendance upon the Queen prior to her accession to the throne; I mean when she was still the Duchess of York. Miss Marston was, in fact, a mere name to me; and since consequently she held no place in my thoughts, it had not occurred to me to connect her in any way with this chance acquaintance of the gaming-table. Now, however, the relationship struck me with a peculiar and even menacing significance. It recalled to me the few words Marston had spoken in the window; and, lo! not half an hour after their utterance, here was, as it were, a guarantee of their fulfilment. Between Marston and myself there already existed, then, a certain faint accidental connection. I felt that I had caught a glimpse of the cord which was to draw us together.
Elmscott's voice broke in upon my imaginings.
"So, Morrice, I have sure knowledge to back my words. No good can come of your journey, though harm may, and it will fall on you. 'Twere best to stay quietly in London. You may think your hair grey, but you will never save Julian Harnwood from the gallows."
My cheeks burned as I heard him, for my thoughts had been humming busily about my own affairs, and not at all about Julian's; and with a bitter shame, "God!" I cried, "that I should fail him so! Surely never was a man so misused as my poor friend! He is the very sport and shuttlecock of disaster. First his messenger must needs fall sick; then my boat must take five days to cross to England. And to cap it all, I must waste yet another night in a tavern or ever I can borrow a horse to help me on my way."