“Everell, say you? Bring the lantern here, Caleb.” In the better light, Foxwell scrutinized his prisoner’s face. “The scar on the cheek, too. ’Tis as I thought. But how Miss Foxwell happens to participate—well, there will be time for explanations. Sir, if you will give me your _parole d’honneur_, I need not inflict upon you the restraint of—” He indicated the cords in Caleb’s possession. “I thank you, but I prefer to retain my right of escape.” “In that case, you will admit the necessity of the precautions I reluctantly take.” And Foxwell set about directing the servants in fastening the captive’s wrists behind him, and in tying his ankles so as to limit the length of his steps. With a courteous “Allow me, sir,” Foxwell disengaged the sword from Everell’s fingers and returned it to its own scabbard, which Everell had retained at his side. This act of grace the Jacobite acknowledged with a bow. “Uncle, you will not detain this gentleman?” entreated Georgiana, conquering her tears. “He has done you no offence. As to our meeting here, I will tell you all; the fault is mine.” “Not so!” said Everell, quickly. “If there be any fault in that, ’tis mine. Sir, it was not by Miss Foxwell’s desire that I came here; it was against her will that I spoke to her. My presence was forced upon her.” “Well, well, you shall be heard presently. You have a more serious charge to face than making love clandestinely to young ladies.—As for you, Georgiana, I thought you were in your chamber, wrapped in the sleep of innocence. I’ll never trust prudery again. I beg you will go in immediately, miss.” “Uncle, I will not go till you have set this gentleman free. You shall have all my gratitude and obedience: I’ll give you no cause of complaint. Be kind—generous—I pray—” Her voice failing her, she fell upon her knees, and essayed to take Foxwell’s hand. “Nay, sweet, you go too far,” said Everell, tenderly. “Too far, indeed,” said Foxwell. “No scenes of supplication, I beg,—they are sure to make me more severe. I advise you to go to your chamber, miss. You had best oblige me in this, else stubbornness on your part may awaken stubbornness on mine.” “Go, dear, and trust all to me,” counseled Everell, who had been regarding her with eyes in which there was no attempt to belie his love. “Go—this is not the end.” She looked at him a moment; then turned sorrowfully away, and went slowly up the steps and to the house, followed by her maid, to whose proffers of assistance she gave no more heed than if she had been walking in a dream. “Sir,” said Everell, with a slight huskiness of voice, “let me assure you that I am a gentleman and a man of honour; and that I respect your niece, and have every reason to respect her, as I would a saint.”