He who came first was a man of most striking appearance. In age he might have been verging upon fifty, and his erect, martial figure and clean-shaven, handsome face showed to the keenest advantage in the uniform of a general of the British army. As if in scorn of the follies of fashion, he wore no periwig, and his iron-grey hair clustered thickly upon his temples. Nor had he, so far as I could see, any decorations upon his breast that could proclaim him to be a person of distinction; but there was that in his face and bearing that needed no outward insignia to stamp him as a leader of men. In any company, in any costume, the man’s individuality must have struck the most casual observer. Immediately behind him came an officer in the blue and white uniform of the Dutch dragoons. The third figure was that of Major Verbrughen.
But no sooner had my lady’s eyes fallen upon the newcomer’s face than she uttered an exclamation of surprise. Glancing swiftly in her direction, I saw that her face, that had a moment before been so pale, had flushed on a sudden to rose red.
“Sir Charles Trevelyan!” she cried.
I knew then with whom I had to deal. His was a name of wide repute—the Bayard of his time! A gentleman of stainless life and simple faith, combining in his person all the simplicity of a child, with the chivalry of a paladin of old. I knew that William upon landing had made him governor of Plymouth and reposed high confidence in his integrity. Now he advanced hat in hand and with a faltering step to my lady; and I saw that his face also bore traces of emotion.
“At your service, madam,” he answered gravely, bowing over her hand. “Little did I think when last we parted that my duty would ever impose upon me so unwelcome a task. Being for the present, however, appointed commander of the troops in Devon, it occurred to me that I might by my presence spare you such trouble as lies in my power in this unhappy affair. But,” he continued in a different tone, for the first time catching sight of me, “who have we here? Where is the Earl of Cleeve?”
“Under Providence, in safety!” I answered quietly, advancing a few steps.
For a moment he did not speak—he simply looked at me. Yet I felt that I cut but a poor figure under his gaze.
“Your name, sir?” he said abruptly.
“Adrian Cassilis,” I answered with what grace I could muster, “captain in his Majesty’s Tangier Horse.” And now that the die was cast I felt my confidence returning.
“There is something here that I do not understand,” he said slowly, crossing the room and seating himself beside the table. “Major Verbrughen, be good enough to explain the meaning of this masquerade?”