James has every hope," she
said, and added miserably: "I know not which to pray for, his recovery
or his death."

"Why that?"

"Because if he survive it may be for worse. The secretary's agent is
even now seeking evidence against him among his own papers. He is in the
library at this moment, going through his lordship's desk."

Mr. Caryll started. That mention of Ostermore's desk brought vividly
before his mind the recollection of the secret drawer wherein the earl
had locked away the letter he had received from King James and his
own reply, all packed as it was, with treason. If that drawer were
discovered, and those papers found, then was Ostermore lost indeed, and
did he survive this apoplexy, it would be to surrender his head upon the
scaffold.

A moment he considered this, dispassionately. Then it broke upon his
mind that were this to happen, Ostermore's blood would indirectly be
upon his own head, since for the purpose of betrayal had he sought him
out with that letter from the exiled Stuart--which, be it remembered,
King James himself had no longer wished delivered.

It turned him cold with horror. He could not remain idle and let matters
run their course. He must avert these discoveries if it lay within his
power to do so, or else he must submit to a lifetime of remorse should
Ostermore survive to be attainted of treason. He had made an end--a
definite end--long since of his intention of working Ostermore's ruin;
he could not stand by now and see that ruin wrought as a result of the
little that already he had done towards encompassing it.

"His papers must be saved," he said shortly. "I'll go to the library at
once."

"But the secretary's agent is there already," she repeated.

"'Tis no matter for that," said he, moving towards the door. "His desk
contains that which will cost him his head if discovered. I know it," he
assured her, and left her cold with fear.

"But, then, you--you?" she cried. "Is it true that you are a Jacobite?"

"True enough," he answered.

"Lord Rotherby knows it," she informed him. "He told me it was so.
If--if you interfere in this, it--it may mean your ruin." She came to
him swiftly, a great fear written or her winsome face.

"Sh," said he. "I am not concerned to think of that at present. If Lord
Ostermore perishes through his connection with the cause, it will mean
worse than ruin for me--though not the ruin that you are thinking of."

"But what can you do?"

"That I