Delia suddenly stopped by the table and caught up her untasted wine.
“God give us luck once more!” she said impulsively. “To the safety of King James’s messenger!”
“Heaven preserve him,” cried Sir Perseus, drinking.
His sister gave him a bright defiant glance.
“Him and the Macdonalds o’ Glencoe!” she said a little wildly. “God preserve!”
“Amen!” said Jerome Caryl.
CHAPTER X
THE KING’S MESSENGER
It was snowing fast over Romney Marsh; the whole wide, desolate fenland sweeping to the sea lay gray under the storm; it was near nightfall and almost dark; in the landscape one light burning brightly through the snowflakes; to judge by its steadiness it came from a window, by its size it was far-off.
There was the steady sound of the thud of the distant waves, now and then broken by the thin cry of the curlew or the hungry shriek of the sea-gull.
In the broken marsh-ground grew a group of withered trees; the foremost bent and blasted by lightning and against this one leaned a man wrapped in a long cloak.