Feversham pursed his lips and considered the speaker. Wentworth reentered, followed by the Earl's valet carrying an armful of garments.

His lordship threw off his dressing-gown and stood forth in shirt and breeches.

"Mais d.u.c.h.e-toi, donc, Belmont!" said he. "Nous nous battons! Ii faut que je m'habille." Belmont, a little wizened fellow who understood nothing of this topsy-turveydom, hastened forward, deposited his armful on the table, and selected a finely embroidered waistcoat, which he proceeded to hold for his master. Wriggling into it, Feversham rapped out his orders.

"Captain Wentwort', you will go to your regimen at once. But first, ah--wait. Take t'ose six men and Mistaire Wilding. 'Ave 'im shot at once; you onderstan', eh? Good. Allons, Belmont! my cravat."

CHAPTER XXII. THE EXECUTION

Captain Wentworth clicked his heels together and saluted. Blake, in the background, drew a deep breath--unmistakably of satisfaction, and his eyes glittered. A m.u.f.fled cry broke from Ruth, who rose instantly from her chair, her hand on her bosom. Richard stood with fallen jaw, amazed, a trifle troubled even, whilst Mr. Wilding started more in surprise than actual fear, and approached the table.

"You heard, sir," said Captain Wentworth.

"I heard," answered Mr. Wilding quietly. "But surely not aright. One moment, sir," and he waved his hand so compellingly that, despite the order he had received, the phlegmatic captain hesitated.

Feversham, who had taken the cravat--a yard of priceless Dutch lace--from the hands of his valet, and was standing with his back to the company at a small and very faulty mirror that hung by the overmantel, looked peevishly over his shoulder.

"My lord," said Wilding, and Blake, for all his hatred of this man, marvelled at a composure that did not forsake him even now, "you are surely not proposing to deal with me in this fashion--not seriously, my lord?"

"Ah, ca!" said the Frenchman. "T'ink it a jest if you please. What for you come 'ere?"

"a.s.suredly not for the purpose of being shot," said Wilding, and actually smiled. Then, in the tones of one discussing a matter that is grave but not of surpa.s.sing gravity, he continued: "It is not that I fail to recognize that I may seem to have incurred the rigour of the law; but these matters must be formally proved against me. I have affairs to set in order against such a consummation."

"Ta, ta!" snapped Feversham. "T'at not regard me. Weutwort', you 'ave 'eard my order." And he returned to his mirror and the nice adjustment of his neckwear.

"But, my lord," insisted Wilding, "you have not the right--you have not the power so to proceed against me. A man of my quality is not to be shot without a trial."

"You can 'ang if you prefer," said Feversham indifferently, drawing out the ends of his cravat and smoothing them down upon his breast. He faced about briskly. "Give me t'at coat, Belmont. His Majesty 'ave empower me to 'ang or shoot any gentlemens of t'e partie of t'e Duc t'e Monmoot' on t'e spot. I say t'at for your satisfaction. And look, I am desolate' to be so quick wit' you, but please to consider t'e circ.u.mstance. T'e enemy go to attack. Wentwort' must go to his regimen', and my ot'er officers are all occupi'. You comprehen' I 'ave not t'e time to spare you--n'est-ce-pas?"--Wentworth's hand touched Wilding on the shoulder.

He was standing with head slightly bowed, his brows knit in thought. He looked round at the touch, sighed and smiled.

Belmont held the coat for his master, who slipped into it, and flung at Wilding what was intended for a consolatory sop. "It is fortune de guerre, Mistaire Wilding. I am desolate'; but it is fortune of t'e war."

"May it be less fortunate for your lordship, then," said Wilding dryly, and was on the point of turning, when Ruth's voice came in a loud cry to startle him and to quicken his pulses.

"My lord!" It was a cry of utter anguish.

Feversham, settling his gold-laced coat comfortably to his figure, looked at her. "Madame?" said he.

But she had nothing to say. She stood, deathly white, slightly bent forward, one hand wringing the other, her eyes almost wild, her bosom heaving frantically.

"Hum!" said Feversham, and he loosened and removed the scarf from his head. He shrugged slightly and looked at Wentworth. "Finissons!" said he.

The word and the look snapped the trammels that bound Ruth's speech.

"Five minutes, my lord!" she cried imploringly. "Give him five minutes--and me, my lord!"

Wilding, deeply shaken, trembled now as he awaited Feversham's reply.

The Frenchman seemed to waver. "Bien," he began, spreading his hands.

And in that moment a shot rang out in the night and startled the whole company. Feversham threw back his head; the signs of yielding left his face. "Ha!" he cried. "T'ey are arrive." He s.n.a.t.c.hed his wig from his lacquey's hands, donned it, and turned again an instant to the mirror to adjust the great curls. "Quick, Wentwort'! T'ere is no more time now.

Make Mistaire Wilding be shot at once. T'en to your 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 grat.i.tude 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 pa.s.sage. 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 enemy, actuated the red-faced captain.

"You had better take yourself off, Sir Rowland," said he. "And you, Mr.

Westmacott--you can wait in the pa.s.sage 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.

"Nay, nay, little child," he whispered in her ear. "Never weep for me that have not a tear for myself. What better resolution of the difficulties my folly has created?" For only answer she clung closer, her hands locked about his neck, her slender body shaken by her silent weeping. "Don't pity me," he besought her. "I am content it should be so. It is the amend I promised you. Waste no pity on me, Ruth."

She raised her face, her eyes wild and blurred with tears, looked up to his.

"It is not pity!" she cried. "I want you, Anthony! I love you, Anthony, Anthony!"

His face grew ashen. "It is true, then!" he asked her. "And what you said to-night was true! I thought you said it only to detain me."

"Oh, it is true, it is true!" she wailed.

He sighed; he disengaged a hand to stroke her face. "I am happy," he said, and strove to smile. "Had I lived, who knows...?"

"No, no, no," she interrupted him pa.s.sionately, her arms tightening about his neck. He bent his head. Their lips met and clung. A knock fell upon the door. They started, and Wilding raised his hands gently to disengage her pinioning arms.

"I must go, sweet," he said.