“The deuce! They may be gone away, you think?”
“Rather fear it, Sir Richard. Powell must have reached Hollymead before nightfall; and if they intended making him a prisoner ’twould be done at once; with no object for their staying afterwards.”
“Unless they have done a long day’s march, and meant to quarter there for the night. If they went thither direct from Bristol, which is like enough, that’s just what they’d do; stay the night, and start back for Bristol in the morning.”
“I have fears, Colonel, we won’t find it so. More likely the Prince was at Monmouth on account of what’s happened there; and will return to it—has returned already.”
“If so, Trevor, ’twill be a black night for you and me; a bitter disappointment, and something worse. If he’s gone from Hollymead, so will they—father, daughters, all. Rupert’s not the sort to leave such behind, with an abettor like Tom Lunsford. As for your cousin, remember how you crossed him. It’s but natural he should feel spiteful, and show it in that quarter.”
“If he do, I’ll cross him worse when we come to crossing swords. And I’ll find the chance. We’ve made mutual promise to give no quarter—almost sworn it. If ill befall Vaga Powell through him, I’ll keep that promise faithfully as any oath.”
“But right you should. And for settling scores you may soon have the opportunity; I trust within the hour.”
“Then, Colonel, you think they’ll still be at Hollymead.”
“I hope it rather; grounding my hope on another habit of this German Prince. One he has late been indulging to excess, ’tis said.”
“Drink?”