"Ah, that is what my father says. ’Tis terrible to think of." "And so the Duke is in the Great Room yonder?" "Yes, and a very gracious, kindly gentleman he seems. His smile is very sweet. Aye, ’tis a thousand pities that he ever landed on so wild a business." "Yes, ten thousand pities," I agreed, though not because I thought of Monmouth’s peril. "My father says he cannot win." "No; there is little chance of that, methinks." "And what if he be beaten, Michael?" "Why, then ’twill be a case of hunt and hunted. But say, Miriam, are many of the gentry coming in to join him?" "Nay, very few, if any. They are nearly all rough country men, more used to scythes than swords. I pity them, for verily they look like stupid boys let loose from school." "Yes, yes," I murmured, for my mind was set on other things just then. "Is Ferguson the chaplain with the Duke?" "Yes; but him I like not," answered Miriam with a little frown. "He may be great and clever as they say, but I go by faces, Michael, and never saw I such an ugly, evil one as his. His little eyes glint out beneath his old torn wig like those of rats, and when he walks he shuffles like a camel. Why the Duke makes so much of him, and trusts him so, ’tis past me to imagine, for verily I would not trust him with my shoes." "Ah, then he must be bad," said I; then fearing lest my face might tell a tale, I added quickly: "Now for the Great Room, Miriam; I would go there." She started back from me, glanced fearfully about her, then with a searching look said: "You would not join these rebels, surely, Michael?" "Nay, I would only see the fun," I answered carelessly. "But even that might well be dangerous," said she. "Remember there be wicked, desperate men abroad just now." I could have told her so much, but I only laughed and said: "Nay, have no fear, sweet girl, for, look you, I am fully armed and care for no man. But, say, how shall I get into the room through such a press?" "Why, if you must really go," said she, "I will take you through the antechamber, and that will bring you well into the room, not far from where the Duke is sitting." "Most excellent!" quoth I. "I pray you lead the way at once, dear Miriam." She turned as if to go, then stopped and gazed upon me in a sad, reproachful fashion. "Michael," she murmured, "how can you talk of seeing fun when your poor father is thus lying----" "Stop! stop!" I broke in swiftly. "We will not speak of that, dear girl. You do not understand. It may be that I seek to drown my thoughts. Lead on, I pray you." And so I followed Miriam, and was ushered in. *CHAPTER XIII* *In the Great Room--and Afterwards*