"Doing the same by the present favorite, as is the nature of
their kind," responded the third; "poor Maurice is already
forgotten."
"The Prince," said the harsh voice, "the Prince would never have
forgiven him for crossing him in the affair of the Lady Sophia
Sefton; the day he ran off with her he was as surely dead--in a
social sense--as he is now in every sense."
Here the mist settled down upon my brain once more, and I heard
nothing but a confused murmur of voices, and it seemed to me that
I was back on the road again, hemmed in by those gibbering
phantoms that spoke so much, and yet said but one word: "Murder."
"Quick--a candle here--a candle--bring a light--" There came a
glare before my smarting eyes, and I struggled up to my feet.
"Why--I have seen this fellow's face somewhere--ah!--yes, at an
inn--a hang-dog rogue--I threatened to pull his nose, I remember,
and--by Heaven!--handcuffs! He has been roughly handled, too!
Gentlemen, I'll lay my life the murderer is found--though how he
should come here of all places--extraordinary. Sir Richard--you
and I, as magistrates--duty--" But the mist was very thick, and
the voices grew confused again; only I knew that hands were upon
me, that I was led into another room, where were lights that
glittered upon the silver, the decanters and glasses of a supper
table.
"Yes," I was saying, slowly and heavily; "yes, I am Peter Smith
--a blacksmith--who escaped from his gaolers on the Tonbridge
Road--but I am innocent--before God--I am innocent. And now--do
with me as you will--for I am--very weary--"
Sir Richard's arm was about me, and his voice sounded in my ears,
but as though a great way off: "Sirs," said he, "this is my friend--Sir Peter Vibart." There
was a moment's pause, then--a chair fell with a crash, and there
rose a confusion of excited voices which grew suddenly silent,
for the door had opened, and on the threshold stood a woman, tall
and proud and richly dressed, from the little dusty boot that
peeped beneath her habit to the wide-sweeping hat-brim that
shaded the high beauty of her face. And I would have gone to her
but that my strength failed me.
"Charmian!"
She started, and, turning, uttered a cry, and ran to me.
"Charmian," said I; "oh, Charmian!" And so, with her tender arms
about me, and her kisses on my lips, the mist settled down upon
me, thicker and darker than ever.