There they stood in low-voiced consultation—Lady Shelton, my Lord Dunmore, and my mortal enemy, Walter Butler, tricked out in lace and velvet. He stood so near to me that my hot hand could have fastened on his throat-strings where I crouched. He turned towards Dunmore with a gesture.
"Sir Timerson should find them to-night," he said; "your thief-taker, Bully Bishop, is with them, I understand."
"They are to search every rebel rat-hole in town," cried Dunmore, eagerly; "they should claw them ere dawn, Captain Butler. Vive Dieu, nous allons les clouer en terrain bouché!"
Lord Dunmore leered at Lady Shelton, and then contemplated his small French hat as though seeking countenance for his halting tongue.
"If I am to conduct Miss Warren," said Butler, gloomily, "you had best see her without delay, my Lord."
His round, amber eyes of a bird were fixed on Dunmore.
"Come now," said Dunmore, slyly, "I am half minded to conduct her myself, Captain Butler, curse me if I am not. I hear you once vowed to wed her in spite of Sir William and me too! Damme, I've a notion you mean me ill, you rogue!"
"Your Lordship is merry," sneered Butler, but I saw his blank eyes contracting as he spoke.
"Faith, I am not over-merry," said Dunmore, plaintively, drawing a diamond pin from his wig and contemplating it. "I like not this night journey to Williamsburg, that's flat!—and I care not if you know it, Captain Butler."
"Then I pray you to release me from this duty," sneered Butler.