“I have nothing to explain, my lord. Ah”—and his voice almost broke—“don’t think me ungrateful for your consideration! If you knew——”
He stopped and turned aside.
Lord Carfield sank into the chair, and covered his eyes with his hands, and the constable retired with his prisoner.
At sight of them the crowd, which had been impatiently waiting at the front, set up a roar; but as Faradeane looked down at them, something in his face silenced them, and a man’s voice cried out:
“Shame on ye! What! will ye judge a man guilty ’fore he’s tried?”
It was Alford, and he forced himself to the front, and made a lane through the mob by the simple expedient of swinging his huge arm. “Don’t be cast down, sir. We knows you’re innocent, right enough; but most of us have had too much liquor. Now, make way there!”
“Thank you, Alford,” said Faradeane, simply, and the three passed through the crowd, which closed up behind them, and followed them to the end of the drive.
The constable had taken the precaution to order a carriage to await them at this point, and he and Faradeane got in, and were driven sharply away.
Faradeane sank back with a sigh, and closed his eyes, and remained silent for a few minutes; then he said, quietly:
“Where are you taking me?”