Whatever Sir Hugh saw or suspected, he said not a word to Lucy, nor was it until surmise had become certainty that he forbade "Cousin Edward" the house. To him he would not condescend to explain his motives; he simply wrote to him to say that on his return he should expect to find that his guest had departed, and that he had sufficient reasons for requesting his visits might not be repeated. With his wife he was, if possible, more austere and morose than ever; so once more the Hall resumed its old aspect of cheerlessness and desolation, and its mistress went moping about, more than ever miserable and broken-hearted. Such a state of things could not long go on; the visits forbidden openly took place by stealth; and the climax rapidly approached which was to result in the celebrated Dangerfield tragedy. At this period there was set on foot another of those determined plots which during the first two reigns of the house of Hanover so constantly harassed that dynasty. Sir Hugh of course was a prime mover of the conspiracy, and was much in London and elsewhere gathering intelligence, raising funds, and making converts to his opinions. Ned Meredith, having, it is to be presumed, all his energies occupied in his own private intrigues, had somewhat withdrawn of late from the Jacobite party; and Sir Hugh heard, with his grim, unmoved smile, many a jest and innuendo levelled at the absentee. One stormy winter's evening the baronet, well armed, cloaked, and booted, left his own house for the metropolis, accompanied by one trusty servant. He was bearing papers of importance, and was hurrying on to lay them with the greatest dispatch before his fellow-conspirators. As night was drawing on, Sir Hugh's horse shied away from a wild figure, looming like some spectre in the fading light; and ere he had forced the animal back into the path, his bridle was caught by a half-naked lad, whom the rider at once recognized as an emissary he had often before employed to be the bearer of secret intelligence, and who, under an affectation of being half-witted, concealed much shrewdness of observation and unimpeachable fidelity to the cause. "Whip and spur, Sir Hugh--whip and spur," said the lad, who seemed flustered and confused with drink; "you may burst your best horse betwixt this and London, and all to get there before you're wanted. A dollar to drink, Sir Hugh, like handsome Ned gave me this morning--a dollar to drink, and I'll save you a journey for the sake of the 'Bonny White Rose' and the 'Bird with the Yellow Bill.'" Sir Hugh scrutinized the lad with a piercing eye, flung him a crown from his purse, and bid him "out with what he had to say, for that he himself was hurried, and must push on to further the good cause." The lad was sobered in an instant.