Rufus stepped stealthily out of the dusking garden into the lighted room, and moving noiselessly across the floor, laid his hand on Halfman’s shoulder. Halfman did not look round.

“Well, Sir Rufus,” he asked, as calmly as if the sudden touch had been some recognized, awaited signal.

“You are not to be taken by surprise, my good friend,” Sir Rufus said. Halfman shrugged his shoulders.

“It would need more than the clap of a man’s paw on my back to take me by surprise; and, besides, I saw you coming. There is a mirror near, good Sir Rufus, and even in yonder owl-light I could pick you out of the mist. Moreover, I thought you would come.”

“Why did you think I would come?” Sir Rufus asked, with a frown.

“Just because I thought it,” Halfman answered, indifferently. “And, you see, my thoughts were true thoughts.”

Sir Rufus came closer to him, speaking in his ear.

“I hope you hate all Roundheads,” he said. “All damned rebels.”

Halfman’s only answer was to whistle very softly the first few bars of a roaring Cavalier ballad. The grasp on Halfman’s shoulder tightened.

“There is one damned Roundhead here who vexes me,” Sir Rufus said, fiercely.

“I think his name is called Cloud,” said Halfman.

Sir Rufus swore a round oath.

“I wish he were dead,” he said.

“If wishes were coaches,” Halfman observed, sententiously, “beggars would ride.”

“He would have been dead ere this if she had not wheedled the King out of his wits. His Majesty is in a forgiving disposition to-day, and forgets his friends at the prayer of a pretty face. I wish this rebel were dead, friend.”

“He will die in time,” Halfman commented, philosophically. Sir Rufus growled.

“You are as dull as mud. It would be money in your pocket, friend Halfman, ay, money running over your pocket-holes, if this rebel were to be your quarry.”

Halfman shook his head, and a knowing smile twisted his mouth awry.

“Nay, Sir Rufus, with your favor, you must do your own killing,” he said.

“Why, so I will,” Rufus answered, angrily. “I will call up the household, lay hands on the rascal, back him to the wall, and bang a fusillade into him.”

Halfman laughed derisively.

“Call up the household!” he crowed. “Do you think they would come at your call? Do you think they would serve you against my lady? Why, they would fling you into the fish-pools if she bade them do so.”

The face of Sir Rufus showed that through all his fury he still retained sufficient command of his reason to know that what Halfman said was more than true. Halfman went leisurely on:

“You cannot employ your own men on the business, neither, for they must march to Oxford with the King. In little it comes to this: if you want a thing done, do it yourself.”

“You are in the right,” Sir Rufus agreed, gloomily. “This fellow was doomed long since. It is no more than common justice to put him out of the way. But I ride with the King.”

“You need not ride very far,” Halfman suggested. “A little way on the road you can slip aside unseen and get back here by a bridle-path. Watch at the western gate of the park. His horse will be waiting for him there to carry him to Cambridge. After his tender leave-taking he will come to his exit a clear mark on the white garden-path for a steady hand holding a pistol. So you can whistle ‘Good-night, cuckoo,’ as you haste to o’ertake the King.”

“’Tis an ingenious scheme,” Sir Rufus mused. Halfman laughed grimly.

“Oh, I am a pattern of strategy; this is but a simple ambuscado, a tame trap. You are a sure shot, I know; you cannot miss your bird. You need waste no time in making sure that he is stark. I shall be at hand to make sure, and will soon stick him in a ditch to wait for judgment.”

Sir Rufus clapped Halfman on the shoulder.

“Your wit has a most pleasant invention,” he approved. “She will soon forget this whining wry-face.”

Halfman disengaged himself from the pressure of his companion’s hand.

“It is so to be hoped,” he said, drearily; “it is so to be believed. Woman’s love-memory is a kind of quicksand that can swallow a score or so of gallant gentlemen and show no trace of their passage.”

“A curse on your poppycoddle,” Sir Rufus grumbled. “I must be stirring. I should like him to know that I killed him.”

“If I find any breath in him I will tell him,” Halfman affirmed. “Your honor over-refines your pleasant purpose. The pith is that he be killed. Remember the western gate.”

In another moment Halfman was alone, listening to the sound of spurred heels on the stairway, as Sir Rufus hastened to join the King.

“Love of woman leads us to strange issues,” he said to himself, with a wintry smile. “Cavalier, Puritan, and poor Jack here, we all love the same lady, and here be two of us clapping palms together to kill the third.”