“Not a word, not a hint, sir,” I says, “until you have told me why you have furnished the Government with such a short account. And I am persuaded, sir, that that Corporal of yours is in the least enviable plight.”
My reluctant enemy fenced with me a long half hour, but I was so tenacious of my course, and parried him with such an ease, that in the end I forced him to desist.
“Very well,” he said, “I’ll tell you, madam. The fact is I have been trying to intimidate you. There has been a conspiracy between his lordship and myself to frighten you into a betrayal of the prisoner. From the first I have been convinced that you could put your hand upon that rebel if you cared, and, my dear lady, it may please you now to know that up to this instant I have not budged one point from that opinion. I am certain that if you chose you could deliver him up to us to-night. Now we let you read the particular narrative that held my lord responsible, and were at pains to cause you to believe that it was going to the Government for the most obvious of reasons. And as you are aware, we have even thought fit to prolong the farce by sending Flickers southward with a bogus packet.”
“This is very fine and pat,” says I, “and sounds like a peroration; but under your favour, sir, I should be glad to examine you upon it. Will you tell me, sir, on whom the blame will fall? If it’s not to be on me, and not to be upon his lordship, who is going to suffer?”
“Yours to command, James Grantley,” the Captain answered, with a grave and happy dignity that sat upon him charmingly, I thought. “Does your ladyship suppose that I am a snivel or a cur? Hath your ladyship formed so kind a judgment of my character as to hold me capable of allowing my friends to suffer rather than myself.”
This vindication of himself made him appear so handsome and so lofty, that I felt that this deep enemy of mine had no right to present so excellent a figure. ’Twas palpable, besides, that he could out-manœuvre me in every way, and was therefore a person to be hated.
“Well, Captain,” says I, reproachfully, “I trust you do repent of the fever you have thrown me in; of the sleepless nights you’ve given me: of the visions of the Tower with which I have been beset.”
“Evildoers,” says he, sternly, “must command no sympathy.”
“’Tis a hard name, sir,” I says.
“Truth, madam, is not a courtier.”