Old Squire Cleverdon had spent the night in Lydford Castle. The Castle was more than half ruinous; nevertheless, there were habitable rooms still in it, and one or two of these served as prison cells. The walls were damp, and the glass in the windows broken; but it mattered not, he had but that night longer for earth, and the season was summer.

The Squire did not lose his gravity of deportment. He had held up his head before the world when things went well with him; he would look the world defiantly in the face as all turned against him. He knew that he must die. He did not entertain a hope of life; it may also be said that he was indifferent whether he lived or died. His only grievance was that the manner of his death would be ignominious. It was hardly likely that the news of his capture and of Captain Fogg's threat should reach Anthony. Where his son was he did not know, but he supposed that he had taken refuge in the heart of the wilderness of moors, and how could he there receive tidings of what menaced his father? Or, if the news did reach him, almost certainly it would reach him when too late to save his father. But, supposing he did hear, and in time, what was menaced, was it likely that he would give himself up for his father? His life was the more valuable of the two; it was young and fresh, he had a wife dependent on him, he had an estate—his wife's—to live on; and the old man was near the end of his natural term of life, was friendless, he had cast from him his children, and was acreless, he had lost his patrimony. Anthony would be a fool to give himself up in exchange for his father. What did the Squire care for the scrap of life still his? So little that he had been ready to throw it away; and if the mode of passage into eternity was ignominious, why it was the very method he had chosen for himself at the sawpit. He was an aged ruined man, who had failed in everything, and had no place remaining for him on earth. He did not ask himself whether he had been blameworthy in his conduct to his children, in his behaviour to Anthony. He slept better that night in Lydford Castle than he had for many nights, but woke early, and saw the dawn break over the peaks of the moor to the east. He would not be brought before the captain and sent to execution for a few more hours. From his cell he had heard and been disturbed by the riot and revelry kept up by the captain and some boon comrades till late.

The morning was well advanced when Julian Crymes rode to the Castle gates, followed by a couple of serving men and laden horses. At her command the men removed the valises from the backs of the beasts and threw them over their own shoulders. The weight must have been considerable, judging by the way in which the men walked under their burdens.

Julian asked for admittance. She would see Captain Fogg. The sergeant at the gate hesitated.

"Captain Fogg was at Kilworthy yesterday in search of papers—my father's papers. I have found them, and bring them to him—correspondence that is of importance."

The sergeant ascended to the room where was the captain, and immediately came down again with orders for the admission of Julian.

Followed by the men, she mounted the stone flight that led to the upper story, where Captain Fogg had taken up his quarters, and bade the servants lay their valises on the table and withdraw.

Captain Fogg sat at the table with a lieutenant at his side; he was engaged on certain papers, which he looked hastily over, as handed to him by the lieutenant, and scribbled his name under them.

Julian had time to observe the captain; he was a man of middle height, with very thick light eyebrows, no teeth, a blotched, red face, and a nose that gave sure indication of his being addicted to the bottle. He wore a sandy scrubby moustache and beard, so light in colour as not to hide his coarse purple lips. When he did look up, his eyes were of the palest ash colour, so pale as hardly to show any colour beside the flaming red of his face, and they had a watery and languid look in them. His appearance was anything but inviting.

He took no notice of Julian, but continued his work with a sort of sulky impatience to have it over.

Not so the younger officer, who looked at Julian, and was struck with her beauty. He turned his eyes so often upon her that he forgot what he was about, and Fogg had to call him to order. Then Fogg condescended to observe Julian.

"Well," said he, roughly, "what do you want? Are these papers? What is your name?"

"I sent up my name," answered Julian.

"Ah! to be sure—the daughter of that rebel. I know—I know. What do you want?"

"I have come to ask the life of Anthony Cleverdon," she answered. "He does not deserve death; it was all my fault that he joined the Duke. He was no rebel at heart; but I drove him to it. See what a man he is—to come and surrender himself in order to save his old father from death."

"Bah! A rebel! He commanded—a chief rebel! He shall die," answered Fogg, roughly.

"I implore you to spare him! Take my life, if you will. It was all my doing. But for me he never would have gone. I sent him from his home—I drove him into the insurgent ranks. I alone—I alone am guilty."

"And who are you that you plead for him so vehemently?" asked the Captain, his watery eye resting insolently on her beautiful, flushed face. "Are you his wife?"

"No—no; I am not."

"Ah, you are his sweetheart."

Julian's colour changed. "He does not love me. He is innocent, therefore I would buy his life."

"Buy!" echoed the Captain.

"Yes—buy it."

"It cannot be done. It is forfeit. In a quarter of an hour he dies! Look here, pretty miss: I have my orders. He is to die. I am a soldier: I obey orders. He dies."

He put his hand to his cravat and drew it upwards. The action showed how Anthony was to die.

"I have brought you here something worthy of your taking," said Julian, lowering her voice—"documents of the highest value. Documents, letters, and lists—what you have been looking for, and worth more than a poor lad's life. What is his body to you when you have driven out of it the soul? A cage without a bird. Here, in these valises, I have something of much more substantial value."

"Let me look," said Fogg.

"By heaven!" he swore, after he had leaned across the table and taken hold of one. "Weighty matters herein."

Julian gave him the key, and he opened; but not fully. Some suspicion of the contents seemed to have crossed his mind. He peered in and observed bags, tied up.

"Ah!" said he. "State secrets—State secrets only for those in the confidence of the Government. Friswell!" he turned to the lieutenant, "leave me alone for a few minutes with this good maiden. She has matters of importance to communicate that concern many persons high up—high up—and young ears like yours must not hear. Wait till you have earned the confidence of your masters."

The lieutenant left the room.

Then Captain Fogg signed to the soldiers at the door to stand without as well.

"So—matters of importance concerning the Government," said Fogg. "In confidence, tell me all—I mean about these valises and their contents."

"I have come here," said Julian, "to implore you to save the life of Anthony Cleverdon. I am come with five hundred guineas, some in silver, some in gold—some in five-guinea pieces, the rest in guineas; they are yours freely and heartily, if you will but grant me the life of your prisoner."

"Five hundred guineas!" exclaimed the Captain; and his pale eyes watered, and his cheeks became redder. "Let me look."

He thrust his hand into the saddle-bag before him on the table, and drew forth a canvas bag that was tied and sealed. He cut the string and ran out some five-guinea pieces on the table. A five-guinea piece was an attractive—a beautiful coin. James I. had struck thirty-shilling pieces, and Charles I. three-pound gold pieces, but the five-guinea coin had been first issued by Charles II. Noble milled coins, on the reverse with the shields arranged across, and each crowned. Captain Fogg took three in his hand, tossed them, rubbed one with his glove, put his hand into the bag and drew forth more.

"Five hundred guineas!" he said. "Upon my soul, it is more than the cocksparrow is worth. I wish I could do it. By the Lord, I wish I could. Give me up that other bag."

Julian moved another over the table to him.

"Why," said he, "what do you reckon it all weighs?"

"I cannot say for certain; one of my men thought about eighty pounds."

"More, I'll be bound; and mostly gold. Why, how come you by so much down here? You country gentry must be well off to put by so much; and all coins of his late Majesty. You may have been nipped and scraped under Old Noll, but under the King you have thriven. Five hundred pounds! Where the foul fiend did you get it? You have not robbed the Exchequer?"

Julian made no answer.

The Captain continued to examine, rub, weigh, and try the coins; he ranged them in rows before him, he heaped them in piles under his nose.

"Upon my word, I never was more sorry in my life," he said. "But I can't do it. My orders are peremptory. If I do not hang him I shall get into trouble myself. But I'll tell you what I'll do—give him a silk sash, a soldier's sword-sash, and hang him in that. It's another thing altogether—quite respectable. Will that do?" After a pause.

"Now look at me," said the Captain; "it is cursed unpleasant and scurvy treatment we gentlemen of the sword meet with. I know very well that such prisoners as we deliver over to be dealt with by the law, supposing they be found guilty and sentenced to transportation or death, will be given the chance of buying off. Why, I've known it done for ten or fifteen pounds. Look at me and wonder! Ten or fifteen pounds in the pocket of this one or that—may be a Lady-in-Waiting. But here be I—an honest, blunt, downright soldier, and five hundred guineas, and many of them five-guinea pieces, too, that smile in one's face as innocent as a child, and as inviting as a wench, and, by my soul! I can't finger them. Orders are peremptory, I must hang him. 'Tis enough to make angels weep?"[7]

He wiped his watery eyes.

"By the Majesty of the King, I'll do my best for you, saving my honour. I'll hang the old man, the father, and let the young one go free."

"Sir," said Julian, "Anthony will never accept life on those terms."

"Then, by my sword and spurs, I can't help you! But I'll do what I can for you—I will, upon my soul! I'll make him dead drunk before I hang him. Will that do? Then he won't feel. Not a bit. He'll go off asleep, and wake in kingdom come, as easy as if he were rocked in a cradle. No unpleasantness at all, and I'll stand the liquor. He shall have what he likes. By Heaven, they're making noise enough outside! Here, help to put this money into the valise. I will call to order."

He set to work and pocketed as many five-guinea pieces as he could, then thrust the rest into the bags.

Having assumed a grave manner, he knocked with the hilt of his sword on the table, and roared to the sentinel to open the door.

He was at once answered. The commotion without had not ceased.

"I will go in. I insist!—I must see Captain Fogg."

"Who is without?" asked the Captain. "Who is that creating such an uproar?"

"It is some one who desires to be admitted into your presence, Captain!" said the Lieutenant. "He says he has been robbed; he claims redress."

"I can't see him—I am busy—— State secrets? Very well, let him in."

He changed his order as Fox burst into the room in spite of the efforts of the sergeant and sentinel to stay him.

"Who are you? What do you here?" asked Fogg. "Stand back. Guard, hold his hands. Take him into custody. What is the meaning of this?"

"I have been robbed," said Fox, his face streaming with sweat and red with heat. "I have had my money taken; she has brought it here; she is trying to bribe you with it; she would buy off that fellow; he deserves to be hung. I will denounce you if you take the money; it is mine. You have come here to hang him, and hanged he shall be. You shall not take my money and let him escape." He gasped for breath; he had been galloping, and galloping in a state of feverish excitement and rage. Some time after Julian had left him at Hall, her final remark had occurred to him, "Then I shall help myself," and he asked himself what she could mean by that, what she possibly could do.

Suddenly he remembered his doubts about whether she had seen him in the pigeon-cote, and at once he was overwhelmed with fear. He mounted his horse and rode to Kilworthy, to hear that his sister had left an hour before with servants and horses. He flew to the dove-cote and explored the pigeon-holes. Every one had been rifled. Sick, almost fainting with dismay, with baffled avarice and ambition, he remounted his horse, and rode at its fastest pace to Lydford.

"You are an impudent scoundrel," said Captain Fogg; "an impudent scoundrel to dare insinuate—but, who are you, what is your name?"

"I am Anthony Crymes of Kilworthy," said Fox.

"It is a lie!" exclaimed Julian, starting forward. "Captain Fogg, take him, if you must have a victim. Take him. He is Anthony Cleverdon, son of the old Squire, and heir to Hall."

"What is that?—what is that? Clear the room," shouted Fogg. "Stand back you rascal!—traitor!—rebel! Sergeant, keep hold of him till you can get a pair of manacles—or stay, take your sash, bind his hands behind his back, and leave the room. Friswell, you need not stay; I will call you when wanted. Matters of State importance, secrets against the Government and his sacred Majesty the King, are not for ears such as yours—till tried, tried and proved worthy. Go."

When the room was cleared of all save Julian and Fox, the Captain said, "Now, then, what is the meaning of this?"

"I have been robbed," said Fox, trembling between apprehension and rage. "My sister has taken advantage of having seen where I keep my money, and has carried it off—therewith to bribe you to let off"—he turned fiercely at Julian, his white teeth shining, his lips drawn back, and his eyes glittering with hate—"to let off—her lover."

"You are quite mistaken," said Fogg, stroking his moustache. "These saddle-bags and valises contain documents of importance, correspondence of the rebels——"

"They contain my money," screamed Fox—"five hundred pounds."

"Five hundred guineas," said the Captain, and thrust his hand into his pocket, "and some of them five-guinea pieces?"

"Even so. They are mine."

"And you are——?"

"Anthony Crymes. Most people know me as Fox Crymes."

"Captain Fogg," said Julian, "that is false. I do not deny that he was once called Crymes, but he obtained a royal license to change his name; he is Anthony Cleverdon."

"Anthony Cleverdon!" echoed Captain Fogg. "By the Lord, you seem to be a breed of Anthony Cleverdons down here! How many more of you are there?"

"There are three," said Julian—"the father, the old squire; there is his son, an outcast, driven by his father from his home; and there is the Anthony Cleverdon of Hall, who has assumed the name, stepped into the rights and place of the other, and walks in his shoes."

"And, by Heaven!—why not wear his cravat? You swear to this."

"I will swear."

"Come—I must have another to confirm your word."

"Call up the old father, if he be not already discharged."

Fox for a moment was stunned. He realized his danger. He had run his head into the noose prepared for Anthony, and that five hundred pounds had saved Anthony and sold him.

The paralyzing effect of this discovery lasted but for a moment. Then he burst forth into a torrent of explanation, confused, stuttering in his rage and fear, now in a scream, then in a hoarse croak.

Captain Fogg rapped on the table.

"Gag him," ordered he, "stop his mouth. We have made a mistake—locked up the wrong man. This is the veritable Anthony Cleverdon, the rebel. Stop his mouth instantly. He deafens me."

Fox—writhing, plunging, kicking, struggling to be free—was quickly overmastered, his mouth gagged, his feet bound as well as his hands. He stood snorting, his eyes glaring, the sweat pouring from his brow, and his red hair bristling.

In another moment old Squire Cleverdon was introduced, looking deadly pale. He had not been released—had not as yet heard that his son had delivered himself up. He looked with indifference about him. He believed he was brought up to receive sentence, and he was prepared to receive it with dignity.

"Old man," said the Captain, "a word with you. Friswell, you may stay. Sergeant, keep at the door. I want a short and direct answer to a question I put to you. Prisoner, do you know that fellow there, with his hair on end and his mouth stopped?"

"I know him very well. I have good reason to know him," answered the Squire.

"What is his name?"

"His name is the same as mine—Anthony Cleverdon."

"And his place of residence?"

"Hall."

"Is he your son?"

"He is my son-in-law; he——"

"Enough. He is your son?"

"Yes; that is to say——"

"Exactly," interrupted Captain Fogg. "I want to hear no more; the lady says the same. Say it again. This is your assert——"

"Anthony Cleverdon, the younger, of Hall," said Julian.

"Sergeant," said Fogg, "is the beam run out?"

"Yes, your honour."

"And the rope ready?"

"It is, your honour."

"Then take this prisoner—Anthony Cleverdon the younger—and hang him forthwith. The two other prisoners are discharged. They were apprehended, or gave themselves up, by mistake. That is the true Anthony Cleverdon. Hang him—at once. He who steps into another man's shoes may wear as well his cravat."