lters, at gaze in the doorway, listened to the bitter tirade. Wilding,
on the settle, sat silent a moment, his elbows on his knees, his chin
in his hands, his eyes set and grim as Trenchard's own. Then he mastered
himself, and waved a hand towards the table where stood food and wine.

"Eat and drink, Nick," he said, "and we'll discuss what's to be done."

"It'll need little discussing," was Nick's savage answer as he rose and
went to pour himself a cup of wine. "There's but one course open to us
--instant flight. I am for Minehead to join Hewling's horse, which went
there yesterday for guns. We might seize a ship somewhere on the coast,
and thus get out of this infernal country of mine."

They discussed the matter in spite of Trenchard's having said that there
was nothing to discuss, and in the end Wilding agreed to go with him.
What choice had he? But first he must go to Bridgwater to reassure his
wife.

"To Bridgwater?" blazed Trenchard, in a passion at the folly of the
suggestion. "You're clearly mad! All the King's forces will be there in
an hour or two."

"No matter," said Wilding, "I must go. I am dead already, as it
happens." And he related his singular adventure in Feversham's camp last
night.

Trenchard heard him in amazement. If any suspicion crossed his mind that
his friend's love affairs had had anything to do with rousing Feversham
prematurely, he showed no sign of it. But he shook his head at Wilding's
insistence that he must first go to Lupton House.

"Shalt send a message, Anthony. Walters will find some one to bear it.
But you must not go yourself."

In the end Mr. Trenchard prevailed upon him to adopt this course,
however reluctant he might be. Thereafter they proceeded to make their
preparations. There were still a couple of nags in the stables, in spite
of the visitation of the militia, and Walters was able to find fresh
clothes for Mr. Trenchard above-stairs.

A half-hour later they were ready to set out on this forlorn hope of
escape; the horses were at the door, and Mr. Wilding was in the act
of drawing on the fresh pair of boots which Walters had fetched him.
Suddenly he paused, his foot in the leg of his right boot, and sat
bemused a moment.

Trenchard, watching him, waxed impatient. "What ails you now?" he
croaked.

Without answering him, Wilding turned to Walters. "Where are the boots
I wore last night?" he asked, and his voice was sharp--oddly sharp,
considering how trivial th