"Ah!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, glancing significantly at Charcam, who was a confidant in his Jacobite schemes; "is it the messenger from Orchard-Windham, from Sir William?"
"No, Sir Rowland."
"From Mr. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday."
"No, Sir Rowland."
"Perhaps he is from Lord Derwentwater, or Mr. Forster? News is expected from Northumberland."
"I can't exactly say, Sir Rowland. The gentleman didn't communicate his business to me. But I'm sure it's important."
Charcam said this, not because he knew anything about the matter; but, having received a couple of guineas to deliver the message, he, naturally enough, estimated its importance by the amount of the gratuity.
"Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar. But let the horses be in readiness. I shall ride to St. Alban's to-night."
So saying, he threw himself into a chair. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared.
The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.