“You think she may be there still? You say you came direct?”
“Straight as the road ’ud let me, Capten. I won’t say she be theear still—that are, under the tree; but she ain’t got home as yet: for I coomed as fast as my legs ’ud carry me. I knew you didn’t want me seen about here, and thought I would be safest to coom up afore the sarvints were stirrin’. She beean’t got home yet, nor half o’ the way—even supposin’ she set off right after me.”
“The road to Stone Dean, you say?”
“That as gooes through Stampwell’s wood, an’ over the hills. It strikes off from the King’s highway, a leetle beyont the gates o’ the park.”
“I know—I know. There, my man! Something to get you your morning dram. Away at once; and don’t let yourself be seen in my company. Go where you like now; but be in your own nest at night: I may want you.”
The messenger took the money; and along with it his instant departure.
“What the deuce can she be doing out at this hour?” inquired Scarthe of himself, as he strode nervously across the parterre.
“Ha! the place—the forest road leading to Stone Dean! Can it be possible that he—The fiends! If it be so, I may yet be in time to take him. Ho, there!” he cried to the guard corporal, who had just appeared outside the courtyard gate. “A dozen men to horse. Quick, corporal! Let them not lose a moment. I shall be out before they have time to strap on their saddles.”
And, having delivered these orders, he turned back into his room; and commenced encasing his body in the steel armour, that lay in pieces around the apartment.
In less than ten minutes’ time he was armed cap-à-pied. Staying only to quaff off a cup of wine—which he hurriedly filled from a decanter that stood upon the side table—he passed out of his apartment; and strode clanking along the stone-flagged corridor that communicated with the rear of the dwelling.