Goldstein was in the company of a gentleman; and, knowing it, he winced. But he kept his temper; for his view of life was bounded by advancement, and he wished to make all sure in this big affair of capturing the Prince, dead or alive. “You do not deny that the Pretender is making for your own house?” he asked, with a sharp glance. “You’re shepherding him along this bridle-track?” “I would God that his Highness might lie safe at my own house of Windyhough to-night.” Even now Sir Jasper found it hard to lie outright, though he realised suddenly that there was a better way of service than death at the quarry-face. As it chanced, however, his words suggested evasion to Goldstein--evasion, and a manifest desire to cloak his errand. “You’ll not show us the way, then? You’re bent on being riddled through with bullets? Your sword’s out--but it can whistle as it will. You shall answer it with musketry.” It was like Sir Jasper that he had forgotten their firearms when he drew his sword. Long companionship with those of his own breed had led him to expect, instinctively, that a score men, coming up against one, would at least meet him with his own weapon. He laughed at his own simplicity--laughed the more quietly because now it was of no consequence either way. His view of the Prince’s safety grew broader every moment. It was not enough that he should head off pursuit from him until he had reached safety in to-night’s camp at Langton. This company of horse had followed the retreat so diligently that to-morrow there would be danger to Stuart’s person, and the next day after, and every day that found him riding at the rear of his sad Highlanders. The plain way of service, as Sir Jasper saw it now, was to take these nondescript cavalry across country, wide between the Lancashire hills, and so give the Prince a longer respite from pursuit. “Am I privileged to change my mind?” he asked, putting his sword in sheath again. “Allowed to save your skin?” said Goldstein, the bully in him quick to take advantage of any show of weakness in an adversary. “As for your mind--you may change it once, my friend, but not twice.” “I pledge my honour that I will lead you to Windyhough.” “Oh, your honour! That will be safe enough. You will lead, and my men carry their muskets loaded; and if anything goes wrong between this and Windyhough--you’ll die for the Stuart, sir,” he finished, with a savage grin. “I make one condition only,” went on the other suavely--“that I ride at my own pace.” “How far is Windyhough from here?” asked Goldstein, with suspicion. “Ten miles.” “Then ride at any pace you like. If we crawl, we shall be there before the Pretender has well got through with supper, and our horses are none too fresh, I own.” Sir Jasper took a pinch of snuff, and rode out in silence from the quarry-face. He was easily master in this enterprise, and wondered that the gross body of the man could dull Goldstein’s reason so completely.