“How monstrous bitter you are against him, to be sure!”
“No. I’m not bitter, my dear. ’Tis only patriotism—loyalty;—’tis our duty, you know, to bring any of these rebels to justice when Providence puts it in our way. And then I’m a persistent man, too; when I once get on the scent of a thing, I can’t stop till I’ve run it down. And so, pretty miss,” he added, playfully, “if you happen to see such a gentleman, within the next day or two,—young and good-looking, and most likely travelling with a friend of about the same age, who’s also a handsome young man but summat heavier built,—why, if you see such a gentleman, with the ace of hearts on his cheek, hold your tongue, and send word to me in care of this inn—Jeremiah Filson—and I’ll see you get your share of the reward.”
Mr. Filson smiled tenderly; and then yawned. A moment later the landlady called from the entry that his room was ready.
“Remember, my dear, the ace of hearts, and Jeremiah Filson,” he said, with a parting grin and wink, and then followed the chambermaid, whom the landlady had ordered to show him his room. Prudence, at the entry door, watched him ascend the stairs till he disappeared at the turn, and heard him bestow a gallant “my dear” upon the chambermaid as he continued on his way, whereupon she tossed her head and became suddenly scornful.
“Poh! Quite a chivalarious gentleman!” said she. “Nasty scrub! He may whistle for his Jacobite with the ace of hearts on his face, for all the help he gets from me!” With that, Miss Prudence returned to the kitchen, but sat aloof from the other servants, who were making merry over their bread and cheese and beer. The worsting she had got in a passage of ironical compliments with Lady Strange’s maid, which had driven her from the company to the yard, was still sore in her mind, so that she sat in contemptuous silence, torn between the desire to tell the others of the Jacobite-hunting guest and the satisfaction of keeping them deprived of subject-matter so interesting. She flattered herself that she was the only person in the house whom Mr. Filson had taken into his confidence; and this was true, though on his arrival he had looked into all the public parts of the inn and questioned the landlord as to the guests up-stairs. His disclosure to her had followed naturally upon her notice of his ear.
Filson, being ushered into one of the back chambers, bade the maid have his portmanteau brought up from the public room. He then took off his shoes and threw himself on the bed. The boy who carried up the portmanteau, two minutes later, found him snoring.
Mr. Filson had not been asleep five minutes, when three horsemen—the three that have been mentioned more than once hitherto in the course of this history—turned in from the street, and came to a stop at the door to the public room. Two of the riders slid from their saddles, and the third,—the postboy in charge,—after dropping two cloak-bags beside the door, proceeded with the horses to the yard. The two gentlemen—for gentlemen they were, as was plain from every appearance, though their clothes had seen considerable service—stood for a moment glancing around. They were young and well favoured; both of average height; one stoutly made, the other of a slighter build. The slender fellow had a small red scar, which indeed was rather like a heart in shape, on his right cheek; but it did not apparently spoil the beauty of his face.
CHAPTER IV
FUGITIVES
The slender young gentleman, after his swift survey of the surroundings, opened the door to the public dining-room.