“For all your talk,” answered Rashleigh, with barefaced affability, “you’ll not make me believe you’ve never found a man who would face death for love of you.” “I may have found some who said they would,” replied Mrs. Winter, complacently swallowing the flattery despite all her sophistication, “but that’s a different thing. Let us see how this Romeo comes out of the test.” “How are you going to put the matter to him, Foxwell?” asked Lady Strange. “Leave it to me,” was the reply. “Either he shall go free and never see her again, or he shall be our guest here for a stipulated time, and then be given up. The only question is, how long shall that time be?” “A day,” suggested Mrs. Winter. “Cruel!—a month,” said Lady Strange. “I cannot have him on my hands so long,” said Foxwell. “Say a week. Shall the wagers stand, on that condition?” Rashleigh made no objection, and the two ladies were brought to a hasty acceptance of the compromise by Foxwell placing his finger on his lip in warning of the prisoner’s approach. Everell came as rapidly as the restraint upon his motions would allow; and stopped as soon as he had entered the room, to avoid proceeding farther with his shuffling steps before the company. Foxwell had a chair placed for him. Caleb and the two other men were ordered to stand ready outside the door, which was then closed. Foxwell sat down near the ladies and Rashleigh, so that the Jacobite now found himself confronted by four pairs of eyes, which paid him the compliment of a well-bred regard vastly different in its effect from the rude stare of the vulgar. His own glance had swiftly informed him that Georgiana was not present. He sat with undissembled curiosity as to what this interview might unfold. He had obeyed the summons with alacrity, eager to be informed of what was to come. He was neither defiant nor crushed; exhibited neither sullenness nor bravado. In the solitude of his place of detention, he had been tormented with the reproach of having brought trouble upon Georgiana; and he had been sobered and humbled by the knowledge that at last his rashness had laid him by the heels. What could he say to Roughwood now, if that wise friend were there to see the fulfilment of his warnings? But these feelings did not banish hope. Everell’s nature was still buoyant. He was, at least, under the same roof with Georgiana. Death seemed far away: he scarcely thought of it as the natural sequel to his situation. He now looked with frank inquiry at the face of his principal captor for enlightenment as to what was intended concerning him.