ight portend. Rather
was it his duty at once to go acquaint Mr. Wilding--if he could find
him--with what was taking place, and leave it to Mr. Wilding to take
what measures might seem best to him. He told them so, and having told
them, left them.

Richard begged to be alone with his sister, and alone they passed
together into the library. His manner was restless; he trembled with
excitement, and his eyes glittered almost feverishly.

"You may have thought, Ruth, that I was resigned to your marriage with
this fellow Wilding," he began; "or that for other reasons I thought it
wiser not to interfere. If you thought that you wronged me. I--Blake and
I--have been at work for you during these last days, and I rejoice
to say our labours have not been idle." His manner grew assertive,
boastful, as he proceeded.

"You know, of course," said she, "that I am married."

He made a gesture of disdain. "No matter," said he exultantly.

"It matters something, I think," she answered. "O Richard, Richard, why
did you not come to me sooner if you possessed the means of sparing me
this thing?"

He shrugged impatiently; her remonstrance seemed to throw him out of
temper. "Oons!" he cried; "I came as soon as was ever possible, and,
depend upon it, I am not come too late. Indeed, I think I am come in the
very nick of time." He drew a sheet of paper from an inside pocket of
his coat and slapped it down upon the table. "There is the wherewithal
to hang your fine husband," he announced in triumph.

She recoiled. "To hang him?" she echoed. With all her aversion to Mr.
Wilding it was plain she did not wish him hanged.

"Aye, to hang him," Richard repeated, and drew himself to the full
height of his short stature in pride at the thing he had achieved. "Read
it."

She took the paper almost mechanically, and for some moments she studied
the crabbed signature before realizing whose it was. Then she started.

"From the Duke of Monmouth!" she exclaimed.

He laughed. "Read it," he bade her again, though there was no need for
the injunction, for already she was deciphering the crabbed hand and
the atrocious spelling--for His Grace of Monmouth's education had been
notoriously neglected. The letter, which was dated from The Hague, was
addressed "To my good friend W., at Bridgwater." It began, "Sir," spoke
of the imminent arrival of His Grace in the West, and gave certain
instructions for the collection of arms and the work of preparing men
for