enlistment in his Cause, ending with protestations of His Grace's
friendship and esteem.

Ruth read the epistle twice before its treasonable nature was made clear
to her; before she understood the thing that was foreshadowed. Then
she raised troubled eyes to her brother's face, and in answer to the
question of her glance he made clear to her the shrewd means by which
they had become possessed of this weapon that should destroy their enemy
Mr. Wilding.

Blake and he, forewarned--he said not how--of the coming of this
messenger, had lain in wait for him at the Hare and Hounds, at Taunton.
They had sought at first to become possessed of the letter without
violence. But, having failed in this through having aroused the
messenger's suspicions, they had been forced to follow and attack him on
a lonely stretch of road, where they had robbed him of the contents of
his wallet. Richard added that the letter was, no doubt, one of several
sent over by Monmouth to some friend at Lyme for distribution among his
principal agents in the West. It was regrettable that they should
have endeavoured to take gentle measures with the courier, as this had
forewarned him, and he had apparently been led to remove the
letter's outer wrapper--which, no doubt, bore Wilding's full name and
address--against the chance of such an attack as they had made upon him.
Nevertheless, as it was, that letter "to my good friend W.," backed by
Richard's and Blake's evidence of the destination intended for it, would
be more than enough to lay Mr. Wilding safely by the heels.

"I would to Heaven," he repeated in conclusion, "I could have come in
time to save you from becoming his wife. But at least it is in my power
to make you very speedily his widow."

"That," said Ruth, still retaining the letter, "is what you propose to
do?"

"What else?"

She shook her head. "It must not be, Richard," she said. "I'll not
consent to it."

Taken aback, he stared at her; then laughed unpleasantly. "Odds my life!
Are you in love with the man? Have you been fooling us?"

"No," she answered. "But I'll be no party to his murder."

"Murder, quotha! Who talks of murder?" Her shrewd eyes searched his
face. "How came you by your knowledge that this courier rode to Mr.
Wilding?" she asked him suddenly, and the swift change that overspread
his countenance showed her that she had touched him in a tender spot,
assured her of the thing she had suddenly come to suspect--a suspicio