Master Sturgeon had walked but a few steps when I came to his side.

"I am a stranger in Bedford, Master Sturgeon," I said, "therefore the company of such a well-known man as yourself is of great interest to me, and if I may, I will e'en walk a little way with you."

"Ah, it is you, Master Stranger?" he made answer, "and you have seen that I am a man of no mean import in the town? Ah, well, you are a youth of great penetration."

"Every one here seems to know you," I said.

"How can it be otherwise?" he said, with half-drunken gravity. "Am I not the father of the town? It is true that many would say that Master Leslie is of greater importance than I, because he is a justice, and because he comes of an old family. But what of that? I am here always and he is only here sometimes. And besides—will not this drag him down, and lift me up? He will say, of course, that Sir Charles Denman egged her on, and not he: that may be true; but why was she on her way to Goodlands, which is the name of Master Leslie's house? You see, she was hardly ever seen at Bedford. None of the family liked the place. Master Leslie came sometimes, and crowed it over people who have made the town, but his wife and children considered themselves too high and mighty to come."

"Master Leslie hath other children, then?"

"Ay, that he hath."

"How many?"

"As to that I know not, for, as I have said, he lived much in London, and was great friends with Old Noll. But when he did come here, he showed what a strong Quaker he was, going sometimes to hear the tinker, and at others to hear Master Gaystone, who is as great a Presbyterian as ever lived. Would you mind taking my arm, young master? My head is clear enough, but I seem to see the road rising up before me."

I took his arm, and continued to ply him with questions, for though he stammered and hiccuped much, he seemed desirous of talking. Moreover, he was not so drunk but that he understood what he was saying.

"And Sir Charles Denman. Know you aught of him?"

"Nay, nothing much. A great friend of Master Leslie's and a bigoted Puritan. A money lover, too, and one, I am told, who is as secret as an oyster. Men have wondered that a maid so young and so fair to look upon should have married him; but no man can tell what a woman will do."

"Is she, then, so very beautiful?"

"Ay, that she is. When I saw her brought into the gaol, I fair started. It seemed impossible that one so young and so fair could attempt to murder a man. But there it is, no man may say what these Puritans will do."

"The king may thank his stars he hath such a zealous officer in this town of Bedford," I said, trying to play upon his vanity. "It ought to be made known what a valuable subject he possesseth."

"Ah, you see that! What I fear is that my part will not be mentioned to his Majesty. Why, a man hath been knighted for less!"

"Many's the time," I said; "yet would you believe that, although I was at Dover when the king landed, and although I heard an officer tell him that the woman was captured, your name was never once mentioned?"

"You at Dover! You heard men tell the news to the king!" he cried.

"Ay, and I spoke to the king," I made answer; "but I left him at Canterbury, for I desired to reach London town quickly, having affairs of importance to transact."

"And the king spoke to you, young master! Tell me, did the king speak to you?"

"Ay, that he did," I replied. "Why not?"

My news seemed to startle him so that his voice lost some of its thickness, and I thought he became soberer.

"I fear I have taken liberties with my betters," he said solemnly.

"Oh, as to that I take no account," I replied. "It was not for me to blazon it abroad that I had spoken to the king, or to tell them that he asked me if I desired a favour, therefore you would think of me as you would think of any other traveller coming into the town. Still, I saw that you were a man of authority, and I desired to speak with you."

"Tell me, young master," he said eagerly, "hath the king sent you here? Are you here for anything like statecraft?"

"As to that, Master Sturgeon, young as I am I am old enough to hold my peace on such matters. Only this I will say: I have a stronger hold on the king than many whose names are bandied from mouth to mouth, and a word from me will in the time to come weigh much with him."

"Your name, worshipful master, what might your name be?"

"As I said before, a man doth not shout his name to the people when he hath important affairs to perform," I replied.

"If there is aught I can do for you, young master," he said, "say the word, and John Sturgeon is at your command."

I had measured my man rightly. Vain as a peacock when sober, and a fool in the bargain when his brains were muddled by drink, I saw that I could work my will with him if I played my game carefully.

We were passing by a gloomy building as we spoke, and he noted my interest in it.

"The gaol, young master, the gaol. Would you like to see it? To-morrow I will be at your service, and I will show you, ay, I will show you the beauteous daughter of Master John Leslie."

"To-morrow," I replied slowly: "to-morrow I ought to be far from Bedford, Master Sturgeon; yet methinks the king would be interested to know that I saw the woman safely guarded. As you said some time ago, had General Monk been killed, Lambert would have been master, and then I doubt much if Charles would have been brought back. You say you have no one above you in this gaol, Master Sturgeon? You are the sole master here?"

"Ay, the sole master," he replied with pride. "Any command I make is obeyed. Either in town or county gaol, John Sturgeon is chief man."

"Then would I visit the gaol, and see this woman before I go to bed to-night," I made answer.

I saw that my request had startled him. Perhaps doubts came into his mind concerning my request. Perhaps never in his life had he a prisoner of such importance. Mostly the people under his care would be thieving vagrants, or perhaps occasionally some low-browed murderer. This woman, however, made him realize his importance more than ever. She was the daughter of one of the chief men in the neighbourhood, and the importance of her capture was not confined to the little town in which he lived.

"I would rather it should be to-morrow if it please you, young master," he said presently, and I could see that his judgment, muddled as it was by drink, was still sufficiently clear to know that my request was not unaccompanied by danger to him.

"I do not think I need trouble you to-morrow," I replied. "If I desire to see the gaol then, it is probable I shall be accompanied by one of the justices of the town. But to-night all is quiet, and perchance I might be enabled to take back a better report to London than if I saw things under the guidance of a justice."

"Oh, I will see to it, young master," he said hurriedly.

"The turnkeys will be either drunk or asleep, but I can open all doors. Come with me. Not but I would rather it had been to-morrow, for the ale was strong, and try as I may I cannot help being sleepy."

He led the way into the gaol courtyard, a small and—as I plainly saw in the moonlight—an ill-kept place,—and then proceeded to open the door which led into the building.

The prison was as silent as death. In the distance I heard the noise of those who were still at their carousals, as well as many whom we had passed in the streets. Some were singing the songs which had been composed about the coming of the king, others were quarrelling, while others still were shouting in their drunken revelry; but here all was as still as death. I saw that Master Sturgeon spoke truly when he said the strong ale had got into his head. He fumbled much with his keys, and in truth seemed wellnigh asleep.

"You will speak well of me to the king, young master," I heard him mumble; "ay, and you ought, for there is not in all the realm a more zealous subject of his Majesty. God save the king!"

"How many gaolers have you here?" I asked, my heart beating fast, for now that I had once entered the prison the reality of what I was trying to do came to me with more vividness than ever.

"How many?" he replied solemnly, "not many; besides, doth not the king ride to London to-day? And have they not been drinking the king's health, even as I have?"

"And is it not right to drink the king's health?" I made answer.

"Right? ay, that it is. Besides, a sup of ale would make me awake again. Well thought of."

Without even stopping to lock the door behind him, he made his way to a room near the entrance, where after much ado, having lit a candle, he found a jar of ale.

"Jiggins of The Bull says he brews the best ale in Bedford," he said, "but this is better, this is better;" and he drank a deep draught.

"Come and let me see the prisoner," I said, for I feared he would soon be too drunk to render me any service.

"Plenty of time, plenty of time," he said sleepily. "Let me pull myself together a bit. Her door is the second on the right, and the key is there," and he pointed to a key hanging on the wall. "I don't like Master Leslie, he hath never treated me as one man of quality should treat another; but I had to put her in the best cell. Oh, she hath a good bed, and good victuals. For what saith her father? 'Nothing is proved against her yet,' he saith, so I had to be careful. But you'll tell the king, young master. It was because of me that she was taken, and—but that ale is good; I will e'en have another drink."

A minute after he sat down in an armchair which stood close to the open fireplace.

"A man may rest in his own room, king or no king," he went on with sleepy gravity. "Besides, am I not the governor? Who dares ask me questions? Even the justices say, 'Ah, we must leave all things to Master Sturgeon.' And they may, they may. The king's most trusted servant—that's what I am. Won't you drink, young master? There's no hurry. Her door is close by, and the key is handy. I always see to that. I always have my own keys for my own use. Ah, Master Leslie will soon know who's master now! The father of Bedford, that's what I am."

I let him wander on. If he had spoken truly there was no need of interruption, for, as some one at The Bull had said, there would be few men in Bedford sober that night. The king had given commands that the people should drink his health, and there was no reason to suppose that they were slow in obeying his royal will. I doubted not that the gaolers had made the most of the king's bounty, even as others had, and if so, there was little fear of being disturbed.

I saw that Master Sturgeon was regarding me in a dazed sort of way, as though he wondered why I was there, but by this time the liquor had got too strong a hold upon his brain for him to think of asking questions. He lay back heavily in his chair, and I saw that he had great difficulty in keeping his film-covered eyes open. A few minutes later he was fast asleep, and I was in Bedford Gaol without a guide to conduct me whither I would go.

Taking the key he had indicated from the nail on which it hung, I made my way out of the room, holding the candle in my hand. But Master Sturgeon paid no heed to me, and to all appearances he would sleep for many hours to come.

Once outside the door, I carefully turned the key in the lock, and then I silently walked along the passages, taking care, however, to make no sound. It was seemingly in my power to set at liberty every prisoner in the gaol, but I thought not of them. All my interest was centred in the woman whom I had accompanied from Folkestone Town to Pycroft Hall. Indeed, I doubt if there were many prisoners to be liberated, for I had heard at the inn that all save those who had committed serious crime had been liberated in order to shew forth the king's clemency.

At the second door I stopped and listened. All was silent as death. Not a sound was heard in the whole dark gloomy building. Even the noise of the revellers from the outside did not reach me here. I did not stop to consider the danger of carrying out the plan that had been born in my mind. I did not consider that if I was caught in the act of seeking to liberate Constance Denman my own liberty would be at stake. I was simply filled with an eager desire to look on her face again, to hear her voice, and to give her liberty. All the fears and doubts which haunted me through the day troubled me no longer. The madness of thus seeking out a woman of whom I knew so little troubled me not one whit. My heart was young and warm, and at that moment the desire to find the king's marriage contract with Lucy Walters was of far less importance to me than to befriend the woman who was accused of trying to murder General Monk.

As I said, I stopped and listened intently. The candle in my hand cast flickering shadows along the gloomy passage in which I stood. The air felt cold and dead. The silence was unearthly, and only the beating of my own heart broke the stillness of the night.

I did not knock at the door at once. What, I reflected, if Master Sturgeon was not as drunk as he appeared? What if he awoke, and discovered that I had locked him in his room? Would he not cry aloud, and arouse some sleepy official, who would be doubtless within call? Loose as had been the discipline in prisons since the coming of the king had been proclaimed, there must be still some semblance of order remaining. I therefore crept back to his door again and listened. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. He was breathing heavily like a man who would not awake for several hours. I therefore found my way back again, and listened at the door in which he said the woman was confined.

Yes, there could be no doubt about it, there was a movement within. I heard the rustle of a woman's dress. I heard some one sighing. I listened if possible more silently, and heard a voice, a woman's voice. I will write down what I heard, for although I deem it an ill-judged act, as a rule, to repeat a woman's prayers, yet because it may shew that I had reason for believing in the woman's innocence in spite of all that had been said to her discredit, I will even do so. For the woman was praying.

"Great Judge of men," she said, "Thou who art God over all, and hast in all ages been kind to those that trust in Thee, be pleased to deliver me. For I am sorely set about with danger. Thou knowest the thoughts of my heart, Thou understandest why I am brought to this condition. Thus because Thou understandest all things I come to Thee with confidence. Be pleased to set at nought the cunning devices of men, and even as the doors of the prison were thrown open to the Apostles of old time, be pleased to open the doors of my prison. But if it is Thy will that I should suffer, help me to deport myself even as one who trusts in Thy mercy through the merits of Christ, who died for the world."

At this there was a silence, and after waiting a moment I made a slight noise at the door, so that she might be prepared for my coming. Then I put my lips to the keyhole, and spoke. "Be silent and fear not," I said in a whisper.

"Who is there?" I heard her say.

"A friend," I replied, "be not afraid."

Upon this I put the key in the door, and to my delight it opened wide. A moment later I stood within the woman's prison house.

Dim as was the light of the candle, for a moment it dazzled her eyes, so that she could not see plainly, but ere long she made out who I was, and then I saw that she was overcome with astonishment.

"Master Rashcliffe!" she said in a frightened whisper.

"Yes," I made answer.

"How came you here?"

"To deliver you—if I can."

For a moment she seemed too overwhelmed for further speech, but presently I saw that she conquered her astonishment, and I thought I saw that half-angry half-defiant look which I had detected when I first overtook her on the road outside Folkestone.

"Do you know you run great danger?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I replied, for somehow her presence seemed to make me slow of speech.

"Then what led you to enter these walls?"

"I have told you," I replied.

"But how could you gain entrance?"

"Another time I will tell you, but there is no time now. Once outside the town I can tell you concerning this and many other matters, but now your liberty is my chief concern."

She looked up into my face as though she would read the story of my life therein, and as she did so I was able to see her more plainly than ever it had been my lot to do. I saw now what the man at the inn had meant when he said she was fair to look upon, for she possessed a beauty such as I had never seen before. And yet she was different from the beauties of Charles' Court, concerning whom I had heard my father speak. Hers was the beauty of a woman who was as pure as the angels. Concerning this many may smile, and say that I saw her with the eyes of foolish boyhood. Yet although many years have passed since then, and although many harsh judgments have been formed concerning the deed of which she was accused, I hold fast to what I say. Her eyes had all the innocence of the eyes of a child. Her face was as free from marks of passion and guilt as were the faces of which artists dreamt when they painted pictures of the Mother of Christ. Nevertheless, hers was not the face of a child. It was strong and resolute. There was neither fear nor shrinking in her gaze as she turned her eyes to my face. Wonder there was, even amounting to astonishment, but there was more. I saw that this woman with such a beauteous face was capable of deeds of daring and sacrifice. That Joan of Arc, the story of whose deeds had so inspired my imagination years before, was not capable of greater daring than she, and that this woman would follow the call of God as faithfully as did the Maid of Orleans more than two hundred years before. Moreover, her presence suggested no weakness. I saw that though barely twenty years of age, she was not weak, nor of delicate appearance. The blood of health coursed through her veins. Her hands were firm, the light of her eyes burned steadily. Moreover, she was not cast in a small mould, rather she was taller than most women, and was perfectly proportioned.

All this I saw at a glance even although it has taken me some time to set it down on paper, and if I had ever hesitated in my determination to save her from the doom which awaited her, it had now flown to the winds. For I knew that her life was not worth a silver groat. General Monk had determined on her death, and in spite of all talk about the king's clemency, it was freely said that he would shew no mercy on those who had aught to do with his father's death. Moreover, as it was given out that both Sir Charles Denman and Master Leslie were much implicated in this matter, the woman who was so closely connected with them both could expect no mercy.

"You know the meaning of what I told you when we stood together outside Pycroft Hall," she said quietly. "You know of what I am accused now?"

"Yes."

"And you believe it?"

"I believe nothing unworthy of you."

"But you have heard of the proofs?"

"Ay, I have heard; but I know nought of them. They are nothing to me. I promised to befriend you, and I have come to fulfil my promise."

"But can you?"

"Ay, I can."

I meant what I said, for at that moment all difficulties appeared as nothing.

"You can take me outside these prison walls?"

"Ay."

"And after that?"

"After that I know not. Perhaps you have plans in your own mind, but if you have not I can save you."

Perhaps the confident way in which I spoke gave her courage; moreover, I saw by the flash in her eyes that she comprehended what to many other women would have seemed mysterious. For she was no woman of dull intelligence, but one who thought quickly and to purpose.

"If I can reach my father's house I am safe," she said.

"Your father's house? That surely is the first place men will go when they hear of your escape from here."

"Nay, it is not. They will never believe that I should go thither now. If they do, it will not matter; I shall be safe there, and even my father will not know of my presence."

"You have trusty servants, and there are secret places at Goodlands," I said.

She gave me a glance which made my heart burn, although I knew not why.

"But for an accident I should have taken refuge there," she said. "While I was at Pycroft it was given out that I had been recognized in the neighbourhood, and endeavours were made to capture me. So I made my way to Dorking, where I made myself known to those whose business it was to take me. But I escaped from there, leaving no trace behind, and hoped to reach my father's house."

"But how did you do this?"

"I have many friends."

"But why did you make yourself known at Dorking?"

She looked at me steadily and seemed on the point of speaking; but no word escaped her lips.

"And did Sir Charles Denman accompany you?" I said.

"No," she replied, and there was, as I thought, anger in her tones. "No, he did not."

Why it was I did not know, but I rejoiced at this.

"And you do not know where he is now?"

"No, I do not know," she answered.

She paused a moment, and although it was a joy beyond the telling to be with her and hear her speak, it came to me that not a moment was to be lost if I was to lead her to liberty.