The man whom they called "Guy" and "Captain" sat by Sophie's side. He ate very little, and kept a watchful eye upon his men after Stango and his companion had come in from the stable and completed the number. He exchanged at first but few words with Sophie, though he surveyed her with a grave attention that brought the colour to her cheeks. He was a man upon guard. Presently he said: "You bear your position well. You are not alarmed at these wild fellows?" "No--not now. I don't think they would hurt me. Besides--" "Besides--what? "he asked, as she paused. "I have your word for them." "Yes," he answered; "but it is only a highwayman's word." "I can trust it." "These men can be demons when they like, Mistress Pemberthy." Sophie did not think it worth while to inform the gentleman that her name was not Pemberthy; it could not possibly matter to him, and there was a difficulty in explaining the relationship she bore to the family. "Why are you with such men as these?" she asked, wonderingly. "Where should I be? Where can I be else?" he asked, lightly now; but it was with a forced lightness of demeanour, or Sophie Tarne was very much deceived. "Helping your king, not warring against him and his laws," said Sophie, very quickly. "I owe no allegiance to King George. I have always been a ne'er-do-well, despised and scouted by a hard father and a villainous brother or two, and life with these good fellows here is, after all, to my mind. There's independence in it, and I prefer to be independent; and danger, and I like danger. A wronged man wrongs others in his turn, mistress; and it is my turn now." "Two wrongs cannot make a right." "Oh, I do not attempt the impossible, Mistress Pemberthy." "What will be the end of this--to you?" "The gallows--if I cannot get my pistol out in time." He laughed lightly and naturally enough as Sophie shrank in terror from him. One could see he was a desperate man enough, despite his better manners; probably as great an outcast as the rest of them, and as little to be trusted. "That is a dreadful end to look forward to," she said. "I don't look forward. What is the use--when _that_ is the prospect?" "Your father--your brothers--" "Would be glad that the end came soon," he concluded. "They are waiting for it patiently. They have prophesied it for the last five years." "They know then?" "Oh yes; I have taken care that they should know," he answered, laughing defiantly again. "And your mother--does she know?" He paused, and looked at her very hard. "God forbid." "She is--" "She is in heaven, where nothing is known of what goes on upon earth." "How can you tell that?" "There would be no peace in heaven otherwise, Mistress Pemberthy; only great grief, intense shame, misery, despair, madness, at the true knowledge of us all," he said, passionately. "On earth we men are hypocrites and liars, devils and slaves." "Not all men," said Sophie, thinking of Reu Pemberthy.