regimen'." He faced
about and took the sword his valet proffered. "Au revoir, messieurs!"

"Serviteur, madame!" And, buckling his sword-belt as he went, he swept
out, leaving the door wide open, Belmont following, Wentworth saluting
and the guards presenting arms.

"Come, sir," said the captain in a subdued voice, his eyes avoiding
Ruth's face.

"I am ready," answered Wilding firmly, and he turned to glance at his
wife.

She was bending towards him, her hands held out, such a look on her face
as almost drove him mad with despair, reading it as he did. He made a
sound deep in his throat before he found words.

"Give me one minute, sir--one minute," he begged Wentworth. "I ask no
more than that."

Wentworth was a gentleman and not ill-natured. But he was a soldier and
had received his orders. He hesitated between the instincts of the
two conditions. And what time he did so there came a clatter of hoofs
without to resolve him. It was Feversham departing.

"You shall have your minute, sir," said he. "More I dare not give you,
as you can see.

"From my heart I thank you," answered Mr. Wilding, and from the
gratitude of his tone you might have inferred that it was his life
Wentworth had accorded him.

The captain had already turned aside to address his men. "Two of you
outside, guard that window," he ordered. "The rest of you, in the
passage. Bestir there!"

"Take your precautions, by all means, sir," said Wilding; "but I give
you my word of honour I shall attempt no escape."

Wentworth nodded without replying. His eye lighted on Blake--who had
been seemingly forgotten in the confusion--and on Richard. A kindliness
for the man who met his end so unflinchingly, a respect for so worthy an
emeny, actuated the red-faced captain.

"You had better take yourself off, Sir Rowland," said he. "And you, Mr.
Westmacott--you can wait in the passage with my men."

They obeyed him promptly enough, but when outside Sir Rowland made
bold to remind the captain that he was failing in his duty, and that
he should make a point of informing the General of this anon. Wentworth
bade him go to the devil, and so was rid of him.

Alone, inside that low-ceilinged chamber, stood Ruth and Wilding face
to face. He advanced towards her, and with a shuddering sob she flung
herself into his arms. Still, he mistrusted the emotion to which she
was a prey--dreading lest it should have its root in pity. He patted her
shoulder soothingly.

"N