stance that they would need their breath anon, perhaps for
fighting, and he bade the man who guided them take them by back streets
that they might attract as little attention as possible.

Within a stone's-throw of the house he halted them, and sent one
forward to reconnoitre, following himself with the others as quietly and
noiselessly as possible. Mr. Newlington's house was all alight, but from
the absence of uproar--sounds there were in plenty from the main street,
where a dense throng had collected to see His Majesty go in--Mr. Wilding
inferred with supreme relief that they were still in time. But
the danger was not yet past. Already, perhaps, the assassins were
penetrating--or had penetrated--to the house; and at any moment such
sounds might greet them as would announce the execution of their
murderous design.

Meanwhile Mr. Trenchard, having relighted his pipe, and set his hat
rakishly atop his golden wig, strolled up the High Street, swinging
his long cane very much like a gentleman taking the air in quest of an
appetite for supper. He strolled past the Cross and on until he came
to the handsome mansion--one of the few handsome houses in
Bridgwater--where opulent Mr. Newlington had his residence. A small
crowd had congregated about the doors, for word had gone forth that His
Majesty was to sup there. Trenchard moved slowly through the people,
seemingly uninterested, but, in fact, scanning closely every face he
encountered. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he espied in the
indifferent light Mr. Richard Westmacott.

Trenchard passed him, jostling him as he went, and strolled on some few
paces, then turned, and came slowly back, and observed that Richard had
also turned and was now watching him as he approached. He was all but
upon the boy when suddenly his wrinkled face lighted with recognition.

"Mr. Westmacott!" he cried, and there was surprise in his voice.

Richard, conscious that Trenchard must no doubt regard him as a
turn-tippet, flushed, and stood aside to give passage to the other.
But Mr. Trenchard was by no means minded to pass. He clapped a hand
on Richard's shoulder. "Nay," he cried, between laughter and feigned
resentment. "Do you bear me ill-will, lad?"

Richard was somewhat taken aback. "For what should I bear you ill-will,
Mr. Trenchard?" quoth he.

Trenchard laughed frankly, and so uproariously that his hat
over-jauntily cocked was all but shaken from his head. "I mind me the
last t