Waghorn laid aside his work, and in very low spirits tramped over to Canon Frome. To do him justice, he was ill at ease, and detested his alliance with an officer of Norton’s type. It might be permissible to use the ungodly as tools, but as he recalled Hilary’s appeal to him in the orchard, and reflected that he had left her wholly at the mercy of the Colonel, his conscience pricked him. He had, as a matter of fact, forgotten everything in the burning desire to prevent Gabriel Harford’s escape. Evidently the soldier had drawn a truthful picture of Norton’s state, for, as the wood-carver was ushered into his room, he peremptorily ordered his servant to quit him, and beckoning Waghorn to come near to the bed, looked up at him with an angry scowl. “Well, scarecrow! What news do you bring?” “No news, sir,” said Waghorn, gloomily. “You great bungling idiot! Of course, I know you didn’t find Captain Harford in Malvern; he was lying within a stone’s throw of us behind the hedge.” “And challenged you in order to save Mistress Hilary?--I guessed as much,” said the wood-carver. “I like your doings very ill, sir, and you well deserve what you got.” “You vile hypocrite! Do you sit in judgment on me?” said Norton. “You! a turncoat--a spy! Why, you can’t even carry out the dirty work you undertake. Prate no more, but tell me what they did with Captain Harford. We fell at the same moment, and he, as I well remember, had death in his face as he ran me through.” “I know not where they bore him, sir, and had there been a burial at Bosbury I must surely have known of it.” “Maybe, then, he still lives, and they have hidden him away somewhere. Doubtless the Vicar hath sheltered him; he is one of those soft-hearted fools who seek to overcome evil with good, and models his life after the Sermon on the Mount, not in your fashion, on the cursing Psalms.” There was enough truth in this remark to cause Waghorn another twinge of conscience. “I may have been ill-advised to leave you in the orchard with Mistress Hilary,” he admitted. “But the flesh is weak, and I remembered only the duty of securing that half-hearted sparer of crosses. The lady told a most shameless lie, and if her lover was slain in the duel his blood will be on her head.” “That may be a very soothing reflection for you,” said Norton, with a grim smile, “but it doth not better my case. Now, look you here, I will do anything in reason for you if you discover this man’s whereabouts. You think, had he died, you would have heard of it. Well, by hook or by crook, you can surely find out where they have stowed him away. Have you seen aught of Mistress Hilary?” “Nay; she keeps the house, I hear, and is ill.” “A blind! A mere trick!” cried Norton, angrily. “Depend upon it, she keeps the house to nurse that accursed lover of hers. Oh! if I had but the strength to mount my horse, I would soon track him down.” “I could keep watch on the house, sir,” said Waghorn, “and let you know who comes and goes.”