“’Tis now not to be doubted,” she says to herself, “but that the Devil’s at the helm of my ship—and that I am to be a man for the rest of my life. ’Sdeath! as dad says, I’ll stop over till Sunday night’s o’er past, and as surely as my name’s Peggy Burgoyne I’ll foil that little dastardly groat of a Baronet’s plot to murder him that I once l-loved. Bah!” cries she half aloud. “What’s the use of mincin’ matters that’s true? Him that I love! Even if he’s dyin’ for Lady Diana, and goin’ to be her husband instead of mine! ‘Consents!’” murmurs she, flinging herself on the bed in a flood of tempestuous tears. In vain regretting, she now too fully realized that her own wilful words, her jealousy, her falsehoods, her deceits, were the sole causes for Sir Robin’s terror, and, therefore, for the abominable scheme which he had just concocted. Presently she arose, tossed the bundle once more back into its hiding-place, and set to pacing up and down the floor as she’d seen her twin do at home when he was looking high and low for a rhyme. ’Twas weightier matters kept Peg moving for an hour or more, and quick-spinning as were her heart and temper, her brain bore a more even balance. First she had thought to warn Percy by a letter unsigned; the which she knew he’d pitch into the fire and think no more about. Then, that she’d write one to Kennaston imploring him to keep Percy from the pier Sunday night or any other; this she soon recognized would have the fate of t’other. Then, ’twas to contrive some plan to fetch him to Richmond, Windsor, any place else for Sunday; but to this arose the objection that the blackguards cheated of one day, or place, would not fail to wait upon their prey some other. At the last, Her Ladyship’s shrewd common-sense and indomitable pluck plainly showed her there was but one safe plan out of the danger; and this must be to go herself to the river Sunday night, and there concealed, armed, await the coming of the cut-throats from their den, and from the rear, put a shot into each at one and the same moment. Could she do it? Her Ladyship had muscles of steel, no nerves, as the fine ladies of her day comprehended them; as brave and loyal a heart as ever beat in any breast; good faith in God, for all her frowardness; and that species of love burning within her for Sir Percy de Bohun, which has, not a few times in the world’s history, made frailest woman into man’s equal for courage. To Lady Peggy there seemed a divine compensation in the fact that it had come to her, to save the very one whom, by her lies and wilfulness, she alone had been the means of endangering. [Illustration] [Illustration: At the table sat Kennaston...] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration] IX _In this same Her Ladyship’s mount is shot dead under her in Epstowe Forest, and she makes off on Tom Kidde’s horse._