I gave a rapid glance around. The lamp’s rays scarce illumin’d the far corners; but in one of these stood a great leathern screen, and over the fireplace near it a rack was hanging, full of swords, pistols, and walking canes. Stepping toward it I caught sight of Anthony’s sword, suspended there amongst the rest (they had taken it from me on the day of my examination); which now I took down and strapp’d at my side. I then chose out a pistol or two, slipped them into my sash, and advanced to the centre table.
Under the lamplight lay His Majesty’s letter, open.
My hand was stretch’d out to catch it up, when I heard across the hall a door open’d, and the sound of men’s voices. They were coming toward the office.
There was scarce time to slip back, and hide behind the screen, before the door latch was lifted, and two men enter’d, laughing yet.
“Business, my lord—business,” said the first (’twas Colonel Essex): “I have much to do to-night.”
“Sure,” the other answer’d, “I thought we had settled it. You are to lend me a thousand out of your garrison—”
“Which, on my own part, I would willingly do. Only I beg you to consider, my lord, that my position here hangs on a thread. The extreme men are already against me: they talk of replacing me by Fiennes—”
“Nat Fiennes is no soldier.”
“No: but he’s a bigot—a stronger recommendation. Should this plan miscarry, and I lose a thousand men—”
“Heavens alive, man! It cannot miscarry. Hark ye: there’s Ruthen of Plymouth will take the south road with all his forces. A day’s march behind I shall follow—along roads to northward—parallel for a way, but afterward converging. The Cornishmen are all in Bodmin. We shall come on them with double their number, aye, almost treble. Can you doubt the issue?”