Eustacie said breathlessly: “You cannot see him! He is in a fever!”
“Never you fret, miss,” said Nye. “Sir Tristram’s not one to go blaming the lad for doing what you ordered him to, nor he won’t do anything to upset him. If you’ll come upstairs, sir, I’ll take you to him right away.”
“Begging your pardon, but I’d as lief come too,” said the Exciseman firmly.
“That’s it, Nosy, you come!” replied Nye. “No one ain’t stopping you.”
Eustacie moved swiftly to the foot of the stairs, as though she would bar the way, but before she could speak Miss Thane was at her side, and had swept her forward, up the stairs, with an arm round her waist. “Yes, my love, by all means let us go too, in case the lad should be alarmed at having to face Sir Tristram.”
“He must not see him! He must not!” whispered Eustacie, anguished
“In my back bedchamber, sir,” said Nye loudly. “I always house smugglers there to be handy for the riding-officers.”
This withering piece of sarcasm made the Exciseman say, defensively, that he was only trying to do his duty. Nye ignored him, and threw open the door of the back bedchamber, saying: “Step in, Sir Tristram: I know I needn’t warn you not to go for to startle a sick lad.”
A small, insistent hand grasped Sir Tristram’s coat-sleeve. He glanced down into Eustacie’s white face, saw in it entreaty and alarm, and shaking off her hand strode into the room.
Ludovic had raised himself on his elbow. Across the room his strained blue eyes met Shield’s hard grey ones. Shield checked for an instant on the threshold, while Miss Thane gave Eustacie’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and the Exciseman said hopefully: “Do you know him, sir?”