they
have been, I see, forgotten. Yet, so that I remember them, that is what
chiefly matters. I promised then--or seemed to promise--that I would
make a widow of you, who had made a wife of you against your will. It
has not happened yet. Do not despair. This Monmouth quarrel is not yet
fought out. Hope on, my Ruth."

She looked at him with eyes wide open--lustrous eyes of sapphire in
a face of ivory. A faint smile parted her lips, the reflection of the
thought in her mind that had she, indeed, been eager for his death she
would not be with him at this moment; had she desired it, how easy would
her course have been.

"You do me wrong to bid me hope for that," she answered him, her tones
level. "I do not wish the death of any man, unless..." She paused; her
truthfulness urged her too far.

"Unless?" said he, brows raised, polite interest on his face.

"Unless it be His Grace of Monmouth."

He considered her with suddenly narrowed eyes. "You have not by chance
sought me to talk politics?" said he. "Or..." and he suddenly caught his
breath, his nostrils dilating with rage at the bare thought that leapt
into his mind. Had Monmouth, the notorious libertine, been to Lupton
House and persecuted her with his addresses? "Is it that you are
acquainted with His Grace?" he asked.

"I have never spoken to him!" she answered, with no suspicion of what
was in his thoughts.

In his relief he laughed, remembering now that Monmouth's affairs were
too absorbing just at present to leave him room for dalliance.

"But you are standing," said he, and he advanced a chair. "I deplore
that I have no better hospitality to offer you. I doubt if I ever shall
again. I am told that Albemarle did me the honour to stable his knackers
in my hall at Zoyland."

She took the chair he offered her, sinking to it like one physically
weary, a thing he was quick to notice. He watched her, his body eager,
his soul trammelling it with a steely restraint. "Tell me, now," said
he, "in what you need me."

She was silent a moment, pondering, hesitation and confusion seeming to
envelop her. A pink flush rose to colour the beautiful pillar of neck
and overspread the delicate half-averted face. He watched it, wondering.

"How long," she asked him, her whole intent at present being to delay
him and gain time. "How long have you been in Bridgwater?"

"Two hours at most," said he.

"Two hours! And yet you never came to... to me. I heard of your
presence, an