“Better nor a real owl could do, David,” said Andrew, raising his beer to his mouth.
CHAPTER X
WAGERS
The conversation just related took place in a passage where the two men kept watch outside the room in which Everell was temporarily confined. It was a small chamber with an iron-barred window, and the Jacobite sat gazing into the flame of a candle on the mantelpiece, while his fate was being discussed in the drawing-room. He was still under the restraint of the cords, which, like that of lock and key, was warranted by his persistent refusal to give his word that he would not escape. The master of the house had personally seen, however, that the prisoner’s surroundings were made as endurable as the necessities of the case allowed.
“So this,” said Foxwell, as he then rejoined his guests in the drawing-room, “is what lay behind our Georgiana’s prudery. How the deuce could she have met the Jacobite?”
“The question is,” said Rashleigh, “what the deuce are you going to do with the Jacobite?”
“I wish I knew,” replied Foxwell, looking at the document presented to him by Jeremiah Filson. “’Tis clear enough what our duty is, as loyal subjects, and so forth.”
“’Twere a pity such a lovable fellow should be thrown to the hangman,” said Mrs. Winter.
“A thousand pities,” said Lady Strange. “And so loving a fellow, too! If ever a man had a true lover’s look!—well, to be sure, the little Georgiana is a pretty thing, but—”
“But the young blade might look higher if he had better taste—is that what you were thinking, Diana?” asked Mrs. Winter, with ironical artlessness.