He was not mistaken. On entering he saw the desired object—the hat of Holtspur, hanging upon the antlers of a stag that were fixed in a conspicuous position against the wall.
He clutched at the hat, and jerked it down—with as much eagerness, as if he feared that something might intervene to prevent him.
It needed no close scrutiny to discover the white gauntlet, still in its place beside the panache of ostrich feathers. On the next instant, the hat, though permitted to retain its plume, was despoiled of the doeskin.
With a bitter smile passing over his pale features, did Scarthe scan the two gloves once more brought together. Finger by finger, and stitch by stitch did he compare them—holding them side by side, and up to the window’s light. His smile degenerated into a frown, as, on the completion of the analysis, he became convinced—beyond the possibility of a doubt—that the glove taken from the hat of Henry Holtspur, and that now figuring on his own helmet, were fellows, and formed a pair. Right and left were they—the latter being the true love-token!
He had entertained a hope, though but a very slight one, that he might still be mistaken. He could indulge it no longer. The gauntlet, worn in the hat of the black horseman, must have once graced the fair fingers of Marion Wade.
“Has she given it to him? Need I ask the question? She must have done so, beyond a doubt. May the fiend fire my soul, if I do not find an opportunity to make her rue the gift!”
Such was the unamiable menace with which Scarthe completed the comparison of the gloves.
That, just taken from the hat of Holtspur, was now transferred to the breast of his doublet. Quick and secret was the transfer: as if he deemed it desirable that the act should not be observed.
“Go!” he commanded, addressing himself to one of the troopers who attended him, “go into the garden—if there be such a thing about this wretched place. If not, take to the fields; and procure me some flowers. Red ones—no matter what sort, so that they be of a bright red colour. Bring them hither, and be quick about it!”
The soldier—accustomed to obey orders without questioning—hurried out to execute the singular command.