"This is lucky indeed! Who would have thought to see you here, captain? But listen to me. I have got a story to tell you that will make your hair stand on end;--two, indeed, but one first, for that presses; and if something is not done immediately, the earl is a dead man!"
"What earl?" demanded Barecolt, in horror and consternation.
"Why, our earl, to be sure!" replied Falgate, walking on into Mrs. White's sanctum sanctorum. "The Earl of Beverley, no other; and that Saracen of a colonel will have him shot to-morrow morning, as sure as I'm a living man, if something is not done to-night to prevent it!"
"I'll cut his throat first!" exclaimed Barecolt, half drawing his sword. "But he dare not--he dare not, Master Falgate. 'Tis all nonsense."
"He shot two men yesterday morning by the water-side," replied Falgate. "Didn't he, Mrs. White?"
The latter words were addressed to the worthy landlady, just as she returned with a fresh chopin; and while Captain Barecolt drained it down at one single indignant draught, she confirmed the poor painter's account, saying--
"Ay, that he did, the bloodthirsty brute! and better men than himself, too."
"What's to be done now?" asked Barecolt. "The only way will be to go and put him to death at once."
"You will only get yourself killed, and do no good," exclaimed the painter and landlady together; and then Falgate, proceeding alone, went on to add, "There is but one way to help the noble lord, captain, if we can but arrive at it, and that is, to get some one to tell Sir John Hotham himself. He'd never suffer all this to go on, if he knew it; and it is only since he fell ill the day before yesterday morning that his son dared to go on so."
"I'll write him a note," said Barecolt.