Traitor or patriot? : $b A tale of the Rye-House PlotRowsell, Mary C. (Mary Catherine)
History
Traitor or patriot? : $b A tale of the Rye-House Plot
Rowsell, Mary C. (Mary Catherine)
Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Rye House Plot, 1683 -- Fiction
"Even if forced to extremes," continued Howard, "why, one of these
sharp little Frenchmen here," and he began handling one of the blades
as he spoke, and laid it lightly across his finger, "would do all the
business in a twinkling. What say you, Master Rumbold?"
"That," answered Rumbold, breaking silence at last, "is not the
point."
"No, by my faith! 'Tis but the edge," cried Lord Howard, with a
grimace of sudden pain, and hastily throwing down the weapon, "the
foul fiend's own grindstone must have sharpened the confounded
blade!" And dragging his gossamer-laced handkerchief from his
pocket, he wound it round his hand.
"Has it drawn blood, my lord?" timorously asked Goodenough, turning
pale, and craning his neck forward.
[Sidenote: A warning.]
"Ay, has it, Master Sheriff," replied Howard, holding up his hand,
and displaying its crimson-dyed cambric swathing, "and this helps but
little to staunch it. Thanks, Master Lee," he went on, as Lawrence
Lee, approaching from an obscure corner, took the wounded hand in
his, and bound his own stout white linen handkerchief deftly about
it; "I had better not have been quite so quick to meddle with it.
Have a care what you are doing," he added, as Lee turned to replace
the blade beside the rest. "Take warning by my fate."
CHAPTER VIII.
MOONRAKERS.
"I say," doggedly began Rumbold, and taking no more notice of Lord
Howard's mishap than if it had not occurred, "that this must be
found, and before morning, else it will betray us."
"Oh! we're betrayed! We're betrayed!" shrieked Sheppard, at the top
of his small voice.
"Silence, idiot!" said Rumbold, turning on him sternly; "and it is
quite clear," he continued, "that it must be lying somewhere between
this house and the river, since Colonel Rumsey is certain that when
he stepped out of the boat he had it safe in the canvas bundle."
"I'll swear to that," said Rumsey.
"Now the garden has been thoroughly searched"--"Every inch of it,"
chorused half-a-dozen voices.
"And that being the case," said the tall soldier, advancing from the
hearth, where he had been standing gazing meditatively into the dying
embers, "perhaps you will find it worth your while to heed now what I
told you on the bridge. You may search in the garden till you're all
blind. I tell you the thing fell into the water. Come, gentlemen,"
he went on, turning to those of the party who had accompanied him, "I
am not after all, you see, such a moonraker as you would have made me
out, when I told you I saw something shining in the water as we came
by."
"Truly you did say so, Colonel," humbly admitted those he addressed.
"Verily we should not have contemned his assurance," ejaculated the
snuffling tones of Master Ferguson, as he clasped his clawlike
fingers, and turned upwards the ferret eyes gleaming beneath a wig
almost concealing his mean little forehead; "for of a surety the hand
of Providence is with those who put their faith--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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