“Pardon my question, Mistress Wade,” said he, joining her, and walking by her side, “Are you not afraid to be out alone at this late hour—especially as the neighbourhood is infested with such ferocious footpads as your brother has been telling me of? Ha! ha! ha!”
“Oh!” said Marion—answering the interrogatory in the same spirit in which it appeared to have been put—“that was before Captain Scarthe and his redoubtable cuirassiers came to reside with us. Under their protection I presume there will no longer be anything to fear from footpads, or even highwaymen!”
“Thanks for your compliment, lady! If I could only flatter myself that our presence here would be considered a protection by Mistress Marion Wade, it would be some compensation for the unpleasantness of being forced as a guest upon her father.”
“You are gracious, sir,” said she, bowing slightly in return to the implied apology.
Then, casting a quick but scrutinising glance at the countenance of the speaker, she continued in thought—“If this man be honest, the devil’s a witch. If he be, I never saw look that so belies the heart.”
“Believe me, Mistress Wade,” proceeded the hypocrite, “I keenly feel my position here. I know that I cannot be regarded in any other light than that of an intruder. Notwithstanding the pleasure it may be, to partake of the hospitality of your noble house, I would gladly forego that happiness, were it in consonance with my duty to the King—which of course is paramount to everything else.”
“Indeed!”
“To an officer of his Majesty’s cuirassiers it should be.”
“In France, perhaps—or in Flanders, where I understand you’ve been campaigning. In England, sir, and in the eyes of an Englishwoman, there are higher duties than those owing to a king. Did it never occur to you that you owe a duty to the people; or, if you prefer the expression, to the State.”
“L’état est roi. L’état est moi! That is the creed of Richard Scarthe!”