An idea came to him, a swift flash, which carried but a half-germ of hope to his heart, as he stood listening to Sir Stephen's heavy breathing.
At least he could ride to Langton Hall and warn Count Jéhan that he was betrayed.
He shrank from proclaiming Gabrielle's brother traitor, yet better first than last, since truth and proof must out.
Yes, he would warn de Quernais, and then, perchance, Providence would show him the fashion of his next step.
With head erect, and pulses on fire, he turned, striding down the narrow stairway and out into the street below.
Their horses were at the inn-stable opposite, though mine host of the Flying Fish had had no accommodation for more guests.
On his way Michael passed merry bands of revellers, for the Prince had brought Brighton into considerable fashion; he also passed one solitary figure, wrapped in a long driving-coat over a rich suit of silk and satin. It was Lord Denningham, hurrying from the Pavilion to the lodging of Sir Stephen Berrington.
Sir Stephen's son set his jaw grimly. There was to be a fight of sorts between them, even though, at present, his sword lay idle in its scabbard.