"Oh, peace! As if this fellow, whom you call by name, and who cringes before you, had not turned treacherous!"
"Ten to one he hath turned treacherous, and dear he shall pay for it; but he hath not turned so at my instigation."
"Oh, no more, I pray. Even this fellow is not bold-faced enough to deny it is for you he has betrayed us. God knows what is to become of me, a prisoner in your hands, without a soul that knows my whereabouts to protect me!"
At this, Master Jerningham, who had kept still while an inspiration perfected itself in his mind, stepped courteously forward, and said, with grave sympathy:
"Not so, mistress. I, the master of this house, will protect you in it."
She looked at him in surprise. His was a face she recalled vaguely as having seen, or faces more or less resembling it, in the streets of London, or in churches, or other public places; but it was not a face she had ever had reason to note carefully. Whatever were the forgotten occasions upon which she may have observed it, as she had observed ten thousand faces worth a careless second glance, the night of her adventure in February was not one of them; for on that night, besides keeping himself in shadow, and leaving all talk to Sir Clement Ermsby, Jerningham had hidden his countenance under the brim of a great Spanish hat. So his face at this moment, appearing as that of a stranger, awakened in her mind no association either pleasant or unpleasant; in itself, it wore so serious and sweet a smile, and the manner of its owner was so quietly chivalrous, that Millicent's feelings promptly declared in its favour. A sudden sense of safety came over her, depriving her for a moment of speech. Then she murmured, unsteadily:
"Master of this house, say you?"
"Ay, mistress, but no conspirator in your being brought here. I am not often at the place; this man hath newly arrived as steward; I came to-night without warning, no more expecting to see strangers in my house than he expected to see me. I know not what hath been afoot; but Heaven must have sent me here, if my coming has saved you from a mischief."
He offered her his hand. Cutting Tom had already released her arm. After a moment, she took the hand, and allowed Jerningham to lead her to a seat by the table. As she scanned his features, an increasing trustfulness appeared in her own.
"Sir," she faltered, deeply relieved and grateful, "I must thank Heaven for my deliverance. To find a gentleman—after these rascals—"