Despairing of drawing any useful information from Wilding, his lordship was on the point of turning to Blake, when quick steps and the rattle of a scabbard sounded without; the door was thrust open without ceremony, and Captain Wentworth reappeared.
"My lord," he cried, his manner excited beyond aught one could have believed possible in so phlegmatic-seeming a person, "it is true. We are beset."
"Beset!" echoed Feversham. "Beset already?"
"We can hear them moving on the moor. They are crossing the Langmoor Rhine. They will be upon us in ten minutes at the most. I have roused Colonel Douglas, and Dunbarton's regiment is ready for them."
Feversham exploded. "What else 'ave you done?" he asked. "Where is Milor' Churchill?"
"Lord Churchill is mustering his men as quietly as may be that they may be ready to surprise those who come to surprise us. By Heaven, sir, we owe a great debt to Mr. Westmacott. Without his information we might have had all our throats cut whilst we slept."
"Be so kind to call Belmont," said Feversham. "Tell him to bring my clot'es."
Wentworth turned and went out again to execute the General's orders. Feversham spoke to Richard. "We are oblige', Mr. Westercott," said he. "We are ver' much oblige'."
Suddenly from a little distance came the roll of drums. Other sounds began to stir in the night outside to tell of a waking army.
Feversham stood listening. "It is Dunbarton's," he murmured. Then, with some show of heat, "Ah, pardieu!" he cried. "But it was a dirty t'ing t'is Monmoot' 'ave prepare'. It is murder; it is not t'e war.
"And yet," said Wilding critically, "it is a little more like war than the Bridgwater affair to which your lordship gave your sanction."
Feversham pursed his lips and considered the speaker. Wentworth reentered, followed by the Earl's valet carrying an armful of garments. His lordship threw off his dressing-gown and stood forth in shirt and breeches.
"Mais dpche-toi, donc, Belmont!" said he. "Nous nous battons! Ii faut que je m'habille." Belmont, a little wizened fellow who understood nothing of this topsy-turveydom, hastened forward, deposited his armful on the table, and selected a finely embroidered waistcoat, which he proceeded to hold for his master. Wriggling into it, Feversham rapped out his orders.
"Captain Wentwort', you will go to your regimen at once. But first, ah--wait. Take t'ose six men and Mistaire Wilding. 'Ave 'im shot at once; you onderstan', eh? Good. Allons, Belmont! my cravat."