ardening, though still damp from the
dews of Mr. Newlington's garden. He cast them aside, and, taking a key
from his pocket, unlocked an oak cupboard and withdrew the heavy muddy
boots in which he had ridden from town. He drew them on and, taking
up his hat and sword, went down the creaking stairs and out into the
street.

Bridgwater had fallen quiet by now; the army was gone and townsfolk were
in their beds. Moodily, unconsciously, yet as if guided by a sort of
instinct, he went down the High Street, and then turned off into the
narrower lane that led in the direction of Lupton House. By the gates
of this he paused, recalled out of his abstraction and rendered aware
of whither his steps had led him by the sight of the hall door standing
open, a black figure silhouetted against the light behind it. What was
happening here? Why were they not abed like all decent folk?

The figure called to him in a quavering voice. "Mr. Wilding! Mr.
Wilding!" for the light beating upon his face and figure from the
open door had revealed him. The form came swiftly forward, its steps
pattering down the walk, another slenderer figure surged in its place
upon the threshold, hovered there an instant, then plunged down into the
darkness to come after it. But the first was by now upon Mr. Wilding.

"What is it, Jasper?" he asked, recognizing the old servant.

"Mistress Ruth!" wailed the fellow, wringing his hands. "She.., she has
been... carried off." He got it out in gasps, winded by his short run
and by the excitement that possessed him.

No word said Wilding. He just stood and stared, scarcely understanding,
and in that moment they were joined by Richard. He seized Wilding by the
arm. "Blake has carried her off," he cried.

"Blake?" said Mr. Wilding, and wondered with a sensation of nausea was
it an ordinary running away. But Richard's next words made it plain to
him that it was no amorous elopement, nor even amorous abduction.

"He has carried her to Feversham... for her betrayal of his to-night's
plan to seize the Duke."

That stirred Mr. Wilding. He wasted no time in idle questions or idler
complainings. "How long since?" he asked, and it was he who clutched
Richard now, by the shoulder and with a hand that hurt.

"Not ten minutes ago," was the quavering answer.

"And you were at hand when it befell?" cried Wilding, the scorn in his
voice rising superior to his agitation and fears for Ruth. "You were at
hand, and could neither