Without a blush did the ruffian give utterance to his atrocious counsels; for he knew they were congenial to him into whose ears he was pouring them.
“Belike, that will be the best way,” rejoined the Prince, well knowing what was hinted at. “I come to be of your mind, Colonel. But now, return to the escort. Give directions for their going into quarters. See that sentries are set round the house, with outlying pickets. We cannot be too careful, though Monmouth is in our hands. When you have everything settled, come to me inside. Then we can talk about further action.”
Light of heart, Lunsford proceeded to the execution of the orders thus given. By the Prince’s manner—and speech, half admitting—he saw that the latter had received a rebuff, and was in the mood for violence, even to outrage. It would be nothing new to him; nor the first time for the ex-Lieutenant of the Tower to be his aid and companion in such a criminal escapade as that they were now contemplating.
Verily were Ambrose Powell’s daughters in danger! And a danger neither had conception or suspicion of.
Chapter Fifty Eight.
A Messenger Despatched.
The girls had gone upstairs, their maid, Gwenthian, attending upon them to dress for dinner, of which something had been said to the Prince when parting with him at the door.
Once inside the dressing-room, however, Sabrina, instead of proceeding to change her attire, made direct for an escritoire, the flap of which she pulled open. Then seating herself before it, she drew a sheet of paper from its drawer, and commenced writing with nervous haste.