obite----"

"Softly, Tom, softly!" said the Major, his keen eyes wandering again.

"Well, sir!" continued the Viscount, leaning across the table and
lowering his voice, "When Charles and young Dick Eversleigh rode for
the Border last year I had half a mind to ride with 'em. But Betty was
in London and London's the devil of a way from Carlisle. Yesterday,
sir, I walked under Temple Bar and there was poor Eversleigh's head
grinning down at me.... Like as not mine would ha' been along with it
but for Bet. As for Charles, 'twas thought he'd got safe away to
France with Mar and the others, but now word comes he was wounded and
lay hid. And sir, though I've sounded every source of news in London
and out, not another word can I hear save that he's a proscribed rebel
with a price on his head and the hue and cry hot after him. Sir, poor
Charles is my childhood's friend--and lieth distressed, hiding for his
life somewhere 'twixt London and the Border, the question is--where?"

"Here, Tom!" answered the Major softly, "Here in this village of
Westerham!"

The Viscount half rose from his chair, fell back again and quite forgot
his affectations.

"Sir--d'ye mean it? Here?"

"Three nights ago he was with my lady Betty--in her garden!"

"With Betty--good God!" exclaimed the Viscount and, springing from his
chair, began to pace up and down. "'Twill never do, uncle, 'twill
never do--he must be got away at all hazards. Charles hath been cried
'Traitor' and 'Rebel'--his property is already confiscate and himself
outlaw--and 'none may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies' on
pain of death. He must be got away--at once! Should he be found
'neath Betty's care she would be attainted too, imprisoned and
belike--Sir, you'll perceive he must be got away at once!"

"True!" said the Major, fingering his wine-glass.

"There none knoweth of his presence here, I trust, uncle--none save you
and Betty?"

"None! Stay!" The Major leaned back and began to drum his fingers
softly on the arms of his chair. "Tom," he enquired at last, "who is
Mr. Dalroyd?"

"Dalroyd is--Dalroyd, sir. Everyone knows him in town--at White's,
Lockett's, the Coca Tree, O Dalroyd is known everywhere."

"What d'you know of him, personally?"

"That he's reputed to play devilish high and to be a redoubtable
duellist with more than one death on his hands and--er--little beyond.
But Ben knows him, 'twas Ben introduced him, ask Ben, sir. But what of