“Silence, wretch!” I commanded him with sternness. “Do you dare to talk of murder to my face, then?”
“Some may call it murder,” he repeated, “but it never was a name of mine. It’s a time of open war, you see; the rebel and the redcoat; and I’m a rebel, as you are aware.”
“Well, at the best,” says I, “even if one can square one’s conscience, ’tis not the right English fashion, sir; and therefore I’ll none of it.”
“No,” says he, reluctantly, “perhaps it’s not. And certainly an open fight would consort kinder with my temper; but how is one to be arranged? Alas! it is impossible.”
“Impossible or not,” says I, “I am not the one to wink at murder.”
“None the less I would remind you, madam,” he insisted, “that one there’ll be if once the man on whose behalf you are interfering can set his hands on me. Tyburn Tree is murder as surely as is an inch of steel.”
“I am not likely to forget it,” says I, “but I propose to select a choicer instrument than the stiletto wherewith to save your life.”
But I found it easier indeed to avert than to perform. My interdict against murder I rigidly enforced; but how to procure the advantages of that extreme act without paying for them bloodily caused me to waste hours in fruitless thought. Affairs were at a head, and something demanded to be done. Captain Grantley was no more the tiger caged. The fierce, intrepid animal had managed to break his prison, and now was on the prowl. Small doubt that he was stealthy, savage, and vindictive. Unless I took an immediate means to ensure the safety of the helpless creature cowering beneath my promise of protection, he would be torn limb from limb, and that despite my vows. And in good sooth things had gone so far that I felt that if by a mischance the poor lad should perish after all, my heart must perish too.
I now come to perhaps the strangest evening of my life. It behoves me, therefore, to be respectful of all that did occur. As I have said, supper was the meal when the family and any guests receiving our hospitality were expected to assemble, that the evening might be spent in cheerful intercourse. Ever a social being, the Earl, my papa, when in the country, was a great stickler for this rule. Therefore, when the bell summoned us to the board on this most eventful evening, any tremors that we had we were compelled to lay aside, while we descended to the supper-table. As our enemy had made no move during the progress of the day, we were led to foster the opinion that, whatever his suspicions, his dark errand had been barren, and that accordingly he lacked a positive knowledge of the rebel’s sanctuary in our house.
I remember that both Miss Prue and I robed with particular care this evening. Miss Prue heightened her complexion to an almost hectic hue, for she reminded me that she was in a very “killing” humour. We dawdled into the dining-room with arms about the waists of one another, as is the fashion of dear friends. My aunt and my papa were there already; the usual salutations were interchanged, and no circumstance suggested that aught beyond the common would occur. But, indeed, an omen thrust itself upon me a moment later when I noted that an extra chair was ranged against the table, which was also laid for five instead of four.