that the needful work should be done in quietness and without disturbance. That work, he said, was (not to lengthen out speech) to assure certain citizens, who were charged with the guardianship of the law, whether or not any persons were laying up the means of setting aside the law for good and all.
“Cousin Oliver,” the old man said, in an amused tone, “you need better acquaintance with your own kith and kin. No one here troubles himself about the law, whether to cant about it or to break it.”
“Most true, I doubt not,” Oliver replied; “but some persons in England have more guile in them than this household and its head, and it may be that certain articles may be secreted within these walls.”
“O ho! that is your errand,” cried Sir Oliver. “Well! it is not precisely what an old English gentleman would covet to have his house searched like the cellar of a suborner of thieves; but in these times gentlemen have to bear strange slights and novelties. But, Cousin Oliver, let it be once for all. When you have ransacked the place from the leads to the cellars, I shall expect an apology, and a pledge that the insult shall not be repeated.”
Cousin Oliver bowed low. He did not smile when the old man desired that his people should seize and carry away whatever they did find hidden, for it could be nothing but the rats from the moat and the mice in the walls.
Harry was attending to his wife, who was trembling in a corner of the sofa, her face as white as the wall. As he brought her a glass of wine from the sideboard, all eyes were turned upon her.
“She must go to her chamber,” Harry said to Cousin Oliver. “You will allow me to attend her there, on my engaging not to leave her side?”
Cousin Oliver was under great concern that this could not be permitted. He gave her air; he gave her wine; he offered to withdraw to the other side of the door (after casting a glance round to satisfy himself that there was no other way of leaving the room); but for the very short time that now remained, the four persons present must remain where they were.
Except that Harry spoke to his wife in whispers, as he stood over her, no one said anything more. Sir Oliver looked out at the gathering twilight; the chaplain was as still as a mouse; and Cousin Oliver paced the long room, from the large window at one end, past the door, and to the tall mantelpiece at the other. His boots creaked irritatingly; he talked to himself, his lips moving continually, and some odd sounds escaping him in his reverie, till Harry could scarcely restrain his laughter. He and Henrietta had often amused themselves with Cousin Oliver’s oddities; but Henrietta was not amused now. She tried to laugh; but it would not do. She threw her handkerchief over her face, and trembled behind it.
At length there were sounds in the hall which made the visitor stop in his walk, and then bow low to his uncle, saying that he would return,—for a few moments only,—to pay his duty before departing. Henrietta then became so agitated that, on Oliver’s re-appearance, some apology was made about her alarms on account of stories about marauders roving the country.
“I crave no pardon for saying,” replied Oliver, “that my kinswoman is the person in all this house who best knows that we are not marauders, and wherefore we have come.”
He launched into a discourse on the lightness and deceitfulness of women, and announced that there had been found not only some of the King’s plate, but certain jewels of the Queen’s, which were to have been conveyed abroad by the two sportsmen who were supposed to be in bed. Their early morning sport was to have been the deportation of these jewels, some of which were national property. Moreover, there were despatches addressed to foreign agents.”
“In the pockets of these guests of mine!” exclaimed Sir Oliver. “On the word of a gentleman, I knew nothing of it.”
Cousin Oliver needed no assurances on this head.
“But where did you find these despatches?” Harry inquired; “and why should these Jesuits bring them here? I don’t understand.”
“Faithful men are inapt at dealing with the unfaithful,” Cousin Oliver observed sternly. “It was not on these men that the papers were found. They would have been delivered into their hands to-morrow.”
“Where then were they?”
“Folded in the garments of a woman—”
“Do send him away!” whispered Henrietta. “I will tell you all.”
The intruders were gone presently. No one of the party would touch wine or food in the house. Their leader did not offer to pray, as the chaplain had expected. As the tramp of the horses resounded on the drawbridge, bolts, bars and chains clanged ostentatiously; it was a vain show of indignation, which made Cousin Oliver smile grimly. He had caught a great prize; but in the midst of his satisfaction he bestowed some sorrowful thoughts on his hopeful young kinsman Harry Carewe.
“I ask you this, Henrietta,” Harry said to his wife that night in her dressing-room. “And I must have a plain answer. Did you know that those papers were wrapped in your clothes?”
“I did.”
“Did you know that they were from the Queen for certain parties abroad? Did you know that you were to transfer them to other hands here?”
“I did: but hear me!”
“Presently. Did you know that those packets contained the crown jewels?”
“I knew that it was some valuable property which their Majesties desired to pledge or sell.”
“Now, then, Henrietta, speak. I will hear you. Say what you have to say.”
Henrietta began to explain the feelings under which she had undertaken this adventure; but she could not proceed. She said to herself afterwards that it was because there was no sympathy in Harry’s countenance,—none in his heart;—and no sense in his mind of the principles and sensibilities of loyal persons. He told her that her weak excuses had no weight with him; and she replied that explanations were thrown away upon