"On the contrary," said Rumsey in calm hard tones, "'tis very great matter. Our noble association brooks no sticklers, nor cowards neither. What were you going to say?"
"That I hope there's not going to be any—any blood-spilling," said Goodenough in a steadier voice.
"Whose blood?" laughed Rumsey. "Charles's, do you mean?"
"Ah, heaven forbid!" fervently ejaculated Goodenough, "and forgive us the bare thought. Of the guards, I meant, or of any with him."
"That they must take their risk of, pretty dears," sneered Rumsey, "so long only as we secure our Blackbird, and our Chaffinch."
Murderous plans.
"Ay, ay," sighed Goodenough. "Well, 'tmust be chanced, I suppose, as you say, colonel; and perhaps if it comes to't, the sacrifice of a man's life will be forgiven by Providence, so only as we can succeed in bringing his majesty to our way of thinking, and make our Protestant religion safe from these popish scoundrels; and bind him to appoint a real true Church of England king to come after him."
"Instead of the Chaffinch."
"The Duke of York must certainly be set aside, if it be true indeed that he is a Papist at heart."
"If!" cried Rumsey in tones that might have been crook-backed Richard's own.