Eased in his mind by this reflection and by the excuse which he had found, as he considered, for appeasing the Government and satisfying it as to his reasons for sheltering a Jesuit plotter, he rose from his seat and wandered into the other rooms of his house, viewing with particular interest and complaisance the one which had been her ladyship's boudoir, or morning-room. "A pretty nest for so fair a bird," he muttered, as he regarded the Mortlake hangings and lace curtains, the deep roomy lounge, the bright silver tea service, and--as blots upon the other things--bunches of now withered flowers in the vases. "A pretty nest. Yet, forsooth, the silly thing must fall out of it; wander forth to freedom and misery. For they say, who study such frivolities, that caged birds, once released, pine and die even in their freedom. _Soit!_ 'tis better that the bird should escape and die of its own accord than be thrust into the cold open by its master's hand. And that would have happened to your ladyship," and he laughed as he spoke of her, "had you not taken the initiative. My Lady Fordingbridge," uttering the words with emphasis, nay, with unction, "I had done with you. It was time for you to go." A little clock on the mantelpiece, a masterpiece of Tompion's, chimed forth the hour musically as he spoke; he remembered his father buying it as a present for his mother the year before they fled to France; and turning round to look at it he saw, standing against its face, where it could not fail to be observed, a letter addressed to him. Opening it, he found written the words, "I have left the house and you. I know everything now." That was all; there was no form of address, no superscription. Nothing could be more disdainful, nor, by its brevity, more convincing. And, whatever the schemes the man might have been maturing in his evil mind against the writer, yet that brief, contemptuous note stung him more than a longer, more explanatory one could have done. "So be it," he said again, "so be it." Then he bade his man come and dress him anew, and afterwards call a hackney coach. And on entering the latter when ready, he ordered the driver to convey him first to the Duke of Newcastle's (the Secretary of State), and later to Lady Belrose's in Hanover-square. "For, to commence," he muttered, as he drove off, "I must square his grace, and then have one final interview with my dearly beloved Katherine. Newcastle has the reputation of being the biggest fool in England--he should not be difficult to deal with; while as to her--well, she is no fool but yet she shall find her master." CHAPTER XI. ARCHIBALD'S ESCAPE.