roop that quartered itself here,
sir," Walters explained, "and so they left me alone. But even had it not
been for that, I scarcely think they would have harmed an old man. They
were brave fellows for all the mischief they did here, and they seemed
to have little heart in the service of the Popish King. It was
the officers drove them on to all this damage, and once they'd
started--well, there were rogues amongst them saw a chance of plunder,
and they took it. I have sought to put the place to rights; but they did
some woeful, wanton mischief."

Wilding sighed. "It's little matter, perhaps, as the place is no longer
mine.

"No... no longer yours, sir?"

"I'm an attainted outlaw, Walters," he explained. "They'll bestow it on
some Popish time-server, unless King Monmouth can follow up by greater
victories to-night's. Have you aught a man may eat or drink?"

Meat and wine, fresh linen and fresh garments did old Walters find him;
and when he had washed, eaten, and drunk, Mr. Wilding wrapped himself
in a dressing-gown and laid himself down to sleep on a settle in the
library, his servant and his dog on guard.

Not above an hour, however, was he destined to enjoy his hard-earned
rest. The light had grown, meanwhile, and from grey it had turned
golden, the heralds of the sun being already in the east. In the
distance the firing had died down to a mere occasional boom.

Suddenly old Walters raised his head to listen. The beat of hoofs was
drawing rapidly near, so near that presently he rose in alarm, for
a horseman was pounding up the avenue, had drawn rein at the main
entrance.

Walters knit his brows in perplexity, and glanced at his master who
slept on utterly worn out. A silent pause followed, lasting some
minutes. Then it was the dog that rose with a growl, his coat bristling,
and an instant later there came a sharp rapping at the hall door.

"Sh! Down, Jack!" whispered Walters, afraid of rousing Mr. Wilding. He
tiptoed softly across the room, picked up his musket, and, calling the
dog, went out, a great fear in his heart, but not for himself.

The rapping continued, growing every instant more urgent, so urgent that
Walters was almost reassured. Here was no enemy, but surely some one
in need. Walters opened at last, and Mr. Trenchard, grimy of face and
hands, his hat shorn of its plumes, his clothes torn, staggered with an
oath across the threshold.

"Walters!" he cried. "Thank God! I thought you'd be here, but