he threshold stood Mr. Wilding. Unheard he
had come upon them. He was bareheaded and carried his drawn sword. There
was blood upon it, and there was blood on the lace that half concealed
the hand that held it; otherwise--and saving that his shoes and
stockings were sodden with the dew from the long grass in the
orchard--he was as spotless as when he had left Ruth in Trenchard's
lodging; his face, too, was calm, save for the mocking smile with which
he eyed Lord Grey.

Monmouth rose on his appearance, and put his hand to his sword in alarm.
Grey whipped his own from the scabbard, and placed himself slightly in
front of his master as if to preserve him.

"You mistake, sirs," said Wilding quietly. "The hand I have had in this
affair has been to save Your Majesty from your enemies. At the moment I
should have joined you, word was brought me of the plot that was laid,
of the trap that was set for you. I hastened to the Castle and obtained
a score of musketeers of Slape's company. With those I surprised the
murderers lurking in the garden there, and made an end of them. I
greatly feared I should not come in time; but it is plain that Heaven
preserves Your Majesty for better days."

In the revulsion of feeling, Monmouth's eyes shone moist. Grey sheathed
his sword with an awkward laugh, and a still more awkward word of
apology to Wilding. The Duke, moved by a sudden impulse to make amends
for his unworthy suspicions, for his perhaps unworthy reception of
Wilding earlier that evening in the council-room, drew the sword on
which his hand still rested. He advanced a step.

"Kneel, Mr. Wilding," he said in a voice stirred by emotion. But
Wilding's stern spirit scorned this all too sudden friendliness of
Monmouth's as much as he scorned the accolade at Monmouth's hands.

"There are more pressing matters to demand Your Majesty's attention,"
said Mr. Wilding coldly, advancing to the table as he spoke, and taking
up a napkin to wipe his blade, "than the reward of an unworthy servant."

Monmouth felt his sudden enthusiasm chilled by that tone and manner.

"Mr. Newlington," said Mr. Wilding, after the briefest of pauses, and
the fat, sinful merchant started forward in alarm. It was like a summons
of doom. "His Majesty came hither, I am informed, to receive at your
hands a sum of money--twenty thousand pounds--towards the expenses
of the campaign. Have you the money at hand?" And his eye, glittering
between cruelty and mockery, fix