"They ransacked the house to find Mr. Archibald. But he, too, was gone. That terrified all but me--me it did not frighten. No, no," he went on, assuming a ludicrous appearance of bravery that was almost weird to behold, "me it did not frighten. I remember when, also, the soldiers searched the house for your father, his late lordship with--he! he!--the same re----" "Silence!" roared Fordingbridge. "How dare you couple my father's name with that fellow? So Mr. Archibald is also gone! But what about the soldiers? The soldiers, I say," raising his voice again to a shriek. "Ah, the soldiers," Luke repeated. "Yes, yes. The soldiers. Brave soldiers. I had a son once in their regiment, long ago, when Dunmore commanded them; he was wounded at--um----um" and he stopped, terrified by the scowl on Lord Fordingbridge's face. "What," bawled the latter, "did they do here--in this house? Curse your son and your recollections, too. What did they do here--in my house?" "They sought for Mr. Archibald--her ladyship being gone forth. But he, too, was out--ho! ho--and--and he never came back. Then the captain--a brave, young lord, they say--said you were known to be fostering a rebel--they called him a rebel Jesuit priest!--that you were denounced from Dunstable, and that you must make your own account with the Government. Then the maids fled, and next the men--they said they owed you no service. Ah! there are no old faithful servants now--or few--very few." "Go!" said Fordingbridge, briefly--and again his look terrified the poor old creature so, that he slunk off shivering and shaking as before. Slowly the viscount mounted the stairs to his saloon, or withdrawing room, and when there he cast himself into a chair and brooded on what he had heard. "Harbouring a rebel--a rebel Jesuit priest," he muttered. "So! so! am I caught in the toils that I myself set? Pardieu, 'twould seem so. I denounce a rebel, and, unfortunately, that rebel lives on me--is housed with me. I never thought of that! It may tell badly for me; worse, too, because I brought him to England in my train. How shall I escape it?" And he sat long in his chair meditating. "The captain said," he went on, "that I must make my own account with the Government. Ah, yes, yes; why! so indeed I must. And 'tis not hard. Make my account! Why, yes, to be sure. Easy enough. I, having embraced the principles of Hanover, and being now firm in my loyalty to George, do, the better to confound his enemies, shelter in my house one whom I intend to yield up to him. Well! there's no harm in that, but rather loyalty. Otherwise," and he laughed to himself as he spoke, "I might lay myself open to the reproach of being a bad host; of not respecting the sacredness of the guest."