"Finish it as you will, Master Wingfield," she said haughtily, "but you think wrongly that she will countenance treason to the king in her own household, and 'tis treason that is brewing to-night."
"Madam," I whispered, "if you love your grandmother and value her safety, you will remain in ignorance of this."
Then she caught me by the arm, with such a nervous ardour that never would I have known her for the Catherine Cavendish of late years.
"My God, Harry, you shall not go," she whispered. "I say you shall not! I—I—will go to my grandmother. I will have the militia out. Harry, I say you shall not go!"
But then my blood was up. "Madam," I said, "go I shall, and if you acquaint your grandmother, 'twill be to her possible undoing, and yours and your sister's, since the having one of the rioters in your own household will lay you open to suspicion. Then besides, your sister's bringing over of the arms may be traced to her if the matter be agitated."
Then truly the feminine soul of this woman leapt to the surface with no more ado.
"Oh, my God, Harry!" she cried out. "I care not for my grandmother, nor my sister, nor the king, nor Nathaniel Bacon, nor aught, nor aught—I fear, I fear—Oh, I fear lest thou be killed, Harry!"
"Lest my dead body be brought home to thy door, and the accusation of having furnished a traitor to the king be laid to thee, Madam?" I said, for not one whit believed I in her love for me. But she only sobbed in a distracted fashion.
"Fear not, Madam," I said, "if the militia be out, and I fall, it will go hard that I die before I have time to forswear myself yet again for the sake of thy family. But, I pray thee, keep to thyself for the sake of all."
With that I was in my saddle and rode away, for I had lingered, I feared, too long, and as God is my witness I had no faith that Catherine Cavendish did more than assume such interest in me for her own ends, for love, as I conceived it, was not thus.