But Cicely gave way utterly. She fell at his feet; she sobbed out desperate entreaties to pitiless deaf ears. "Ah! no, no, my lord, it cannot be, you cannot mean it. Say you do but jest. Surely it is enough, this thing that I have done. For I have told you, told you all I know. Ah! tell me what more I can do, what more to win her pardon. Indeed I will do anything—anything, an you will but pardon. Ah! my lord, my lord!" Jeffreys looked down at her and laughed. Then he poured himself another glass of wine, and pushed the bottle on to his neighbour. "Take her away! Take her away," he said testily, pushing her with his foot. Cicely would have renewed her plea, but Prudence Lane, realising that any such effort would be useless, and apprehending that to remain longer in such dissolute and abandoned company might be to court insult even of a more degrading character, leaned down to her companion, and with a whispered entreaty, drew her to her feet. The door was flung open for their departure and the two girls, Cicely clinging to her friend’s arm for support, were ushered from the room, and thence into the High street. In heavy silence they retraced their steps homeward, but had not proceeded far, when upon turning a corner they ran almost into the arms of Captain Protheroe. He had been absent from Taunton since the previous day upon a mission in the west, and was now on his way to the White Hart Inn in search of Colonel Kirke to make his report. Cicely recoiled from him with a cry of remorseful horror, but he stepped eagerly towards her. Though they had never spoken together, he knew her well by sight. "Lady Cicely Winslow!" he exclaimed in glad astonishment. "What brings you to Taunton at such a time? ’Tis no ill news, I trust. And Mistress Barbara? Is she here likewise?" Cicely stared at him, her eyes wide with a momentary terror. "You know, you must know," she exclaimed in a low, hard voice. "No! I will not believe but ’twas you who betrayed her. I dare not. I should go mad else at what I have done. No! ’tis true, you are but mocking me." Her words had almost a ring of entreaty in them. She could not, would not believe his innocence; would not be deprived of this last plea in justification. He stared down at her in amazement. "On my soul, Lady Cicely, I do not understand one word of what you are saying," he exclaimed. Cicely remained sullenly silent. He turned to Prue for an explanation. "What means all this? Where is Mistress Barbara Winslow?" "In prison, sir, for harbouring rebels, sentenced for two years, and to be scourged every month in the open market-place. If, as her ladyship says, this is your doing, you may be proud of your work." She tossed her head defiantly. "In prison! Here in Taunton! Impossible, girl. You must be mad to say it," he urged in desperate eagerness.